


Febu(flop)

by Nocere, WithACherryOnTop



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Broken Bones, Exhaustion, Febuwhump, Febuwhump 2021, Fluff, Gen, Hurt Peter, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Reveal, Impalement, Imprisonment, Insomnia, Mind Control, Peter Parker Whump, Poor Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Sleep Deprivation, The Raft Prison (Marvel), Whump, Wrongful Imprisonment, but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:41:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28827606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nocere/pseuds/Nocere, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WithACherryOnTop/pseuds/WithACherryOnTop
Summary: Unfortunately, in an attempt to write the prompts for Febuwhump, we've discovered that we are incapable of writing shorter works. Our writings for each prompt were getting longer and longer, and that would be unattainable to achieve with college starting up soon.Therefore, enjoy the few prompts we were able to crank out a little bit early.Disclaimer: All characters belong to Marvel and/or Sony. We do not give permission for this work to be published to any other sites.
Comments: 27
Kudos: 57





	1. Mind Control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello readers! This is WithoutSensation. I will be working on and finishing my Stingers and Fangs and Barbs, Oh My! Series (if anyone is actually interested, lol) in the next few months, but for now, please enjoy a couple of prompts I've written.
> 
> To better understand this prompt: Peter was not snapped in Infinity War, Scott Lang was not trapped in the quantum realm for five years, and it did not take five years for them to discover time travel. Please, enjoy!
> 
> -WithoutSensation

Tony really didn’t see how the Snap was random. How could Scott lose the love of his life? How could Steve lose both of his best friends? How could Clint lose his _entire family_? How could Tony be, in his opinion, so undeservingly lucky?

Tony still had Pepper, Rhodey, Happy, and Peter. He still mourned the deaths of his friends, but all things considered, Tony’s outcome was as good as it could get.

Not Peter though.

Peter lost May. He lost MJ. He lost Ned. Tony was the only person Peter had left.

After Thor’s gruesome decapitation of Thanos and the remaining Avengers’ failed retrieval of the stones, Peter seemed to give up. He spent his days locked in his room at the compound, only coming out for at least one meal a day. Tony had been ecstatic when Peter came out of his room for lunch _and_ dinner one day, but his spirits plummeted when Peter failed to come out of his room at all the following day.

Tony wasn’t really surprised. Peter had already lost so much in his short life, and the aftermath of losing his aunt and closest friends certainly wasn’t going to be fixed with a stack of pancakes and some lab time.

After discussing it with Pepper, Tony decided that they needed a break from both the city and Avengers. All it did was shove what Peter had lost back in his face. He purchased a large log cabin a few hours upstate, and the three packed up their belongings.

Peter had not been upset about leaving, as Tony had feared he would be, but he wasn’t excited for it either. The lack of reaction was more concerning to Tony than anything.

A month passed in their new home, and Tony noticed subtle changes. Peter now ate at least three times a day. Tony didn’t always consider the portions to be full meals, but he’d take a snacking Peter over a starving Peter. Peter also didn’t spend all of his time in his room anymore. He’d tinker in the garage with or even without Tony, help Pepper out in the garden, and even help Tony dry the dishes at night.

On one particular night, Peter came down from his room to watch a movie with Tony and Pepper. Had Tony known Peter would watch it with them, he would’ve picked something other than the silly rom-com they were currently watching. But Peter seemed to like it well enough. He even popped up a bowl of popcorn and laughed at the cringy dialogue.

It seemed like a real improvement, and Tony headed to bed later than night with a smile on his face. That smile vanished when he passed by Peter’s room though. Through the door, Tony could hear the telltale signs that Peter was crying. The noises stopped suddenly, Peter undoubtedly recognizing that Tony was outside his door with his heightened senses.

Tony’s hand reached for the doorknob, but he stopped himself short. Nothing he could say was going to make Peter’s situation better, but maybe there was something he could do. Tony immediately abandoned his plans to sleep in favor of rushing down to his workshop. Come Hell or high water, Tony was going to fix this. For Peter.

…

Tony, Peter, and all the remaining Avengers were currently gathered on the quantum realm machine platform. They were all suited up and equipped with their own quantum GPS tracking devices. Steve was delivering a trademark, grandiose pep talk, but Tony was only paying any attention to Peter.

Peter finally had the spark back in his eyes, that spring in his step. They were going to get their friends back, their families back.

The plan was for Peter, Tony, Steve, Scott, and Bruce to go back to the battle of New York in 2012. There, Steve would nab the mind stone from the scepter, Tony and Scott would snatch the space stone from the Tesseract, Bruce would swindle the time stone from the Ancient One, and Peter would help the good citizens of New York.

After Steve’s rousing speech, Tony took a possibly last look around at friends, his family. This _had_ to work. They all synced up their watches.

“See you in a minute.” Natasha said, a rare smile gracing her features.

Tony pushed the button, and the floor seemed to drop out from under him as he plummeted into the quantum realm. He angled himself towards the destination his tracker was indicating to the best of his ability. _How exactly does one steer themselves to the right time? God, this better work._

Just as quickly as it began, it was over. The ground rushed up to meet him, and Tony was embarrassed to find himself on his knees. He felt much better though when he looked to see Steve and Bruce in the same positions, Peter groaning where he laid, sprawled out flat on his back. Scott was the only hero who had stuck the landing, but that wasn’t a surprise.

“Showoff,” Tony muttered under his breath as he clasped Peter’s arm, pulling him up.

“Alright,” the group gathered around Steve, “split up. You all know what to do. Good luck, guys.” With that, Steve and Bruce both parted from the group for their own parts of the mission. Scott shrunk down and latched onto Tony’s suit. Peter looked around, eyes wide.

Peter had been a young child during the attack on New York. There was so much noise and destruction all around them, and it was a lot to process all at once. But Peter plastered on a brave face. It had taken hours for him to convince Tony and Bruce to let him help the citizens, and he wasn’t going to back out now. Peter figured that with all of the madness, nobody would question a sticky kid helping evacuate citizens. Besides, they popped into 2012 a decent distance away from the 2012 Avengers; it’s not like they would notice Peter.

“Be careful, okay kid?” Tony couldn’t help but worry.

“Of course, Mr. Stark. I’ll be fine, Good luck Mr. Lang!”

Scott’s tiny voice rang through the comms, “I already told you, it’s Scott. Just Scott.”

Tony’s nanotech surrounded the quantum suit, and he was gone. Peter busied himself straight away.

He essentially went door to door, helping evacuate apartments, businesses, homes, and even schools. Officials helped direct the people from there, and anyone injured was met with first responders. Besides evacuation, Peter also successfully reunited a few parents with their kids, took down a handful of the Chitauri, webbed up some structurally unsound buildings to keep them erect, and even pulled a tiny kitten that resembled Murph from the rubble. He strategically deposited said kitten just outside the door to Delmar’s Deli & Grill.

All was going well enough until Peter realized that he had somehow wandered to Stark Tower. He never planned to get this close to 2012 Avengers, but his curiosity was very quickly getting the better of him. _If I climb up there, I’ll have a great vantage point. Yup, that’s why I’m climbing Stark Tower. For the vantage point. Not because it’s the Avengers former base or that there’s an actual wormhole up there._

Peter began scaling the tower, avoiding all kinds of projectiles from the Chitauri. _Holy crap! Holy crap!_ When he finally reached the top, he was saddened to see that several letters from “STARK” were missing. Broken glass littered the rooftop, and Peter looked up to see a swarm of Chitauri and Leviathans emerging from the wormhole.

“Mr. Stark is gonna kill me.” Peter mumbled to nobody.

Peter could see Dr. Erik Selvig working on keeping the wormhole open, and Peter felt a stab of pity. Dr. Selvig was an amazing, respectable scientist, and it was awful to see him being forced to perform such a heinous task under Loki’s mind control. Although Peter wanted to help Dr. Selvig, he decided now would be the right time to climb back down. The 2012 Avengers would be there to help Dr. Selvig soon enough; besides, Peter really shouldn’t interfere. But all thoughts of not interfering vanished when he saw what was happening inside Stark Tower from the balcony.

Inside, Tony was sporting one of his Black Sabbath graphic tees while making a drink at the bar. Loki stood opposite him, his scepter in hand. The two seemed deep in conversation, and the pair were getting closer and closer together. When there was hardly a yard between them, Loki began to raise his weapon.

 _No! Had Mr. Stark been under mind control during the attack on New York and just never told me?_ Tony was always very hush hush when it came to telling Peter anything remotely traumatic about his past. Peter wouldn’t put it past Tony to hide something like this from him.

While Tony didn’t look worried by the scepter getting closer and closer to his heart, Peter couldn’t take any chances. _What if this isn’t how the fight went down in my reality? What if Tony dies in this reality, or the Avengers don’t even win once they lose Tony to Loki?_ Without thinking through the consequences, Peter smashed through the window and sprinted towards Tony.

“No, stop!” Peter dove through the air, pushing Tony out of the way. In an instant, he felt the tip of the scepter connect with his chest. While there was no actual stabbing sensation, Peter could immediately feel the effects penetrate through his quantum and spider suit.

An icy cold gripped his heart, quickly traveling through his limbs and finally into his brain. It was as though Peter was being pulled down to the bottom of a dark, icy lake. He was suspended in his own mind, helpless against the power of the mind stone. His mind was instantly overrun with images of unspeakable evil and an overwhelming desire to obey.

His body rose from the ground against his will, and he locked eyes with Loki, awaiting instruction.

…

“...Because if we can’t protect the Earth, you can be damned well sure we’ll avenge it.” Tony brought his drink up to his lips, taking a sip.

“How will your friends have time for me when they are so busy fighting you?” Loki brought up the scepter.

Just as the scepter was about to connect with Tony’s chest, a cry caused both men to turn their heads. A flash of red and blue slammed into Tony, knocking him to the side with a grunt of pain. The scepter’s momentum kept it moving forward, straight into the chest of the unexpected hero.

Loki could see the collapsed form writhe as it fought the effects of the mind stone, but it was useless. The body soon stilled before rising up to stare at Loki.

“Well, this is rather interesting.” Loki eyed the masked individual. “Take off your mask.”

When the figure didn’t immediately heed his command, Loki let out an irritated huff. _Whoever this person may be, they obviously are capable of putting up some sort of fight against the stone._ “Take off your mask, _now_!”

That did the trick, and the figure removed the mask to reveal the face of a young man beneath it. His mouth was pressed in a firm line, and his expressionless eyes shone a bright blue, indicating the presence of the mind stone.

“I must say, this is truly pathetic, Stark. Sending a child into battle?” Loki spat towards Tony’s form, which was also staring at the young man in disbelief. “Who is he?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen him before in my life.” Tony subtly began activating the metal band wrapped around his wrist.

“Well, he seems to think he knows you. He must be enhanced in some way. Shall we test that?” Loki asked rhetorically for the second time that day, fully prepared to sick the boy on Tony.

“Be my guest; I don’t know the kid.” With that, the Iron Man suit was summoned to Tony, immediately wrapping around his form.

“Well, you two have fun then. I have a war to win. Boy, kill this man.”

The child hesitated for all of two seconds, but then his head nodded in acknowledgement to the command. Loki walked out onto the balcony, leaving the two to fight.

…

Okay, this was the _weirdest_ day of Tony’s life. He had thought the alien army was weird, but some mystery-hero-kid leaping in and pushing him out of the way? They were circling each other, and all Tony thought about was how much he didn’t want to have to fight this kid. Kid. A legitimate child that was currently staring Tony down with murderous intent.

“Look, kid. I’m not sure what this is all about, but you’ve gotta fight this.” Tony reasoned. He didn’t expect a response, and wasn’t awarded one. Instead, the boy lunged at Tony and tackled him to the ground. He gripped the wrists of the Iron Man suit and squeezed. While it was not enough to break Tony’s wrists, it was enough to render one of the gauntlets completely useless.

 _Okay, so definitely enhanced._ Tony brought his leg up and kicked the kid away with as much force as he dared. He didn’t really want to hurt this person. It was obvious he was only trying to protect Tony earlier. Even though Tony was sure the mind stone would not be able to affect the arc reactor in his chest, the thought of a child sacrificing himself for Tony was not something Tony could take lightly. Regardless, he had to protect himself until the mind control wore off.

The teen once again charged at Tony, and he fired several blasts from the remaining wrist gauntlet. To his surprise, the kid used some sort of tethers to jump up to the ceiling. Once there, he remained stuck there by the balls of his feet. _What the Hell?_

The kid launched off the ceiling straight into Tony, ramming him into the ground. He then began pounding away at Tony’s helmet with his fists. Tony redirected power to the arc reactor, and fired a blast into the kid’s stomach. It definitely knocked his attacker off him, but his suit must have been flame-retardant, given that there was no other visible damage.

This time he tried something else. Tony noticed that the tethers were triggered from his wrist, and had a web-like structure. The kid was now grabbing large objects around the tower and lobbing them at Tony. He avoided a majority of them, but some he had to actually block with his arms, damaging the suit. After getting nailed in the head with his own personal favorite bottle of gin, Tony had had enough.

“Sorry about this, kid.” Tony rushed the boy, catching him off guard. At first, he tried holding the kid down on the ground by his wrists, but that quickly failed when the boy headbutted him. Tony thought about using his lasers, but that would drain way too much power, and would most likely remove one or more of the boy’s limbs.

He deployed a set of restraints that wrapped around the boy’s ankles. Simultaneously, Tony was shot backwards against a wall as he was assaulted by shot after shot of the sticky, web-like tether. Tony couldn’t move, but neither could the kid. Tony began furiously trying to free himself while the boy pulled and beat on his own ankle restraints.

The teen freed himself first and advanced towards Tony, who had only managed to free one arm. “Please don’t make me hurt you.” Tony didn’t want to use the lasers, but it looked like he wouldn’t have much of a choice. Just as he fired up his laser, he heard… himself?

“Peter, no! Stop!” The actual use of Peter’s name seemed to snap the kid out of his violent haze. “You don’t want to do this, Pete.”

Tony looked up at… another Tony?! _Seriously, what the Hell?!_

This other Tony approached the boy with his hands held up placating, as if he was approaching a wounded animal. Or rather, a rabid animal. “That’s me, Peter. You wouldn’t want to hurt this younger, devilishly handsome version of me, would you?”

Peter seemed to be considering, but then picked this newer version of Tony as his new target. This Tony appeared ready though, and held up his gauntlet, releasing a sonic blast directly at Peter.

Peter immediately crumbled to the ground, clutching his head and letting out a pained scream before going completely boneless. The new Tony rushed over to check Peter’s pulse, and breathed a sigh of relief when he felt it beating steadily. He lifted Peter’s eyelid, and was pleased to see they had returned to their normal shade of brown. He then looked up to make eye contact with Tony.

“Uh… you didn’t see anything, got it? We’re both smart enough to know not to mention this to anyone, alright?” New Tony demanded.

“W-Who is he?” Tony stammered, confused out of his mind.

“You’ll understand soon enough.” The new Tony picked up Peter’s still form before getting onto the elevator. He hesitated, but then said, “Everything is going to be okay, Tony,” as the elevator doors closed.

Tony stood in complete silence, trying to comprehend the last several minutes. _I really need to stop drinking._

…

By the time everyone made it back to their central meeting point, Peter was finally starting to rouse.

“Ugh, Mis’r Stark? Wha’ happened?” Peter groaned.

“Well, essentially we freaked out my past self so much that I’m honestly not sure what’s going to happen to this timeline. But, we did get the stones and nobody died, so I’d call this a success.” Peter’s eyes widened as it all came crashing back.

“Oh my gosh, Mr. Stark! I tried to kill you, and past you! I’m so, so sorry. They saw us, and now this reality is doomed! It’s all my fault.”

“Woah, woah, woah, Peter! Everything’s fine. It wasn’t your fault; you were under Loki’s mind control. It’s that bastard’s fault, not yours.”

That seemed to calm Peter down, but only for a few seconds. “Yeah, but this reality is still doomed.”

Tony wasn’t sure what to say to that, but then Bruce reminded him. “No it isn’t. I was discussing it with the Ancient One. When we return the stones, this reality will go completely back to normal. This chaotic reality won’t happen.”

That did and didn’t make sense to Peter, but he was too tired to question it. Instead, he brought up another point that was weighing on his mind, “How did you break me out of it?”

Tony sighed, “I remembered how Nat helped Clint out. She referred to it as ‘cognitive recalibration’, which basically means hitting you on the head really hard.”

Peter winced.

“I didn’t _actually_ hit you on the head. I just used one of those sonic booms, and it seemed to do the trick.” Tony looked regretful, “I’m sorry for hurting you. You aren’t seriously hurt, right?”

Peter did a quick physical inventory. His stomach was a little more sore than the rest of him, but it was really no different from any other bumps and bruises he got while out on patrol. “No, I’m alright Mr. Stark.” _I just feel awful about attacking you and your past self._

Tony could see in his eyes that Peter was still unnecessarily beating himself up about the whole mind control thing. “Hey, we’ll talk it over after we’ve got your aunt and friends back.”

The mention of Peter’s friends and family was enough to draw a smile out of him.

Steve brought everyone back to attention. “Okay everyone, sync up your GPS. See you in a minute.”

As Tony clicked the button, the ground once again dropped out from under him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this! I found it very difficult writing with two different Tony's in the picture. The next prompt will be by... drumroll please... WithACherryOnTop! YAY!!!
> 
> I hope everyone had the happiest New Year that they could have given the circumstances. Everyone stay safe out there!
> 
> -WithoutSensation


	2. "I Can't Take This Anymore"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all! This is WithACherryOnTop! I'm here with my first prompt for this Febu(flop). If anyone's curious, yes, I am finishing "Have You Ever Seen "The Village"?". It's happening! I'm really working hard on it, I promise!
> 
> For this prompt, there's really not a whole lot of context needed. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> -WithACherryOnTop

Tony sighed as he stepped out of the jet’s shower room, the last Avenger to get fresh and clean. He spared a glance around the small but cozy cabin. Clint and Natasha were co-piloting together, or really, chatting amongst themselves as F.R.I.D.A.Y. kept them on their course, Bruce was catching up on some podcasts, and Rhodey and Sam were getting situated on the jet floor with Steve as he shuffled a deck of cards.

“Great, you’re finally done!” Steve slapped the ground beside him. “Now, get over here so I can show you guys 10-point Pitch. It’s really only best to play with four players.”

“You haven’t got to show me anything, Rogers. I know how to play Pitch.” Tony walked over. “And how’s about we set up on the table next time, yeah? I haven’t got super serums or military experience that allows me to sit down on the floor like any of you.”

“Just sit down, Tones.” Rhodey yanked on Tony’s arm. “I watched you lift brick and lumber all week. Without your suit, might I add. You’re limber enough.”

“Yeah, but all of that was a big mistake.” Tony stretched his back with great exaggeration.

“Just get ready to play, yeah?” Steve ceased his card shuffling. “Now, before I deal, do you want Sam or Rhodey as your partner, or do I even need to ask?”

The team was traveling back to upstate New York after spending nearly an entire week aiding in disaster relief in Honduras. There had been an awful pair of hurricanes that rushed the country, one right after the other, and the Avengers had been called in to assist. They had helped with search and rescue, provided first aid, and even began assembling shelters for people who had lost their homes. The work had of course been tiring, but the results were slowly but surely beginning to show, and the country was on its way to recovery.

“Alright, because nobody bid, I’m stuck with it right?” Sam asked, believing he had the rules down. “So I think I’ll go with. . . hearts as trump.”

As Tony began searching through his cards, pulling all of his hearts and the off-Jack to the front, he received an alert from Peter Parker. “Hold up, guys, gotta take this. Don’t look at my cards.”

“Yeah, sure.” Sam replied smugly, even though inside he was cursing himself for picking hearts as the trump suit. He should have gone with clubs. Oh well, maybe his partner would be able to help him out.

Tony headed to the back of the jet for a little privacy, in case this was a Peter emergency and not really a Spider-Man emergency. He opened the video call. “What’s up, kid?”

The Spider-Man mask immediately came into frame. “Mr. Stark! Okay, so there was some sort of huge convoy transporting Ryker’s criminals, but it got ambushed, and there’s like prisoners, everywhere. And I mean _everywhere!_ The police are trying, but there’s so many of them! And I think that these guys all had guys on the outside, and they’re tossing out weapons, and things are getting real bad real quick!”

Tony hurried to the cockpit with Clint and Natasha, getting ready to change their course from the Avengers Compound to the island of Manhattan. “Peter, I’m gonna end the call real quick and get you on the open comms.” Tony didn’t wait for Peter’s response.

Steve, Rhodey and Sam filed up to the cockpit as well, sensing the change in Tony’s demeanor. “What’s up?”

“It’s Peter, in New York. Alone. He said that there’re a bunch of Ryker’s inmates on the loose, and that they’re locked and loaded. How far out are we?” Tony asked Clint, who was taking manual control of the jet in order to hopefully get them there faster.

“At least three hours, Tony.” Clint confirmed.

“Alright, alright.” Tony muttered. “F.R.I.D.A.Y, open up comms so we can keep in touch with Peter.”

Immediately, the cabin filled with the sounds of shouting and gunfire.

“Mr. Stark?”

“Yeah, Peter, I’m here with most of the team. How are you doing?”

“Uhm, okay, I think. Nothing I can’t handle.”

The sound of an explosion burst in the background, along with a few choice words from Peter. “When can you guys get here?”

Tony sighed audibly. “It’s gonna be about three hours, kid.”

The open line was silent, minus the chaos within New York City, but then Peter, chipper as ever, replied, “Wow, I’ve really got my work cut out for me today! Don’t worry about it though, Mr. Stark. I can handle this!”

Another explosion burst, followed by rapid-fire.

_Except I don’t think you can,_ Tony kept to himself. If only he’d let Peter come with the rest of the team to Honduras, then the kid wouldn’t be in this mess. But, hurricane season was midterm season, and Tony always made sure that Peter’s academics came before hero work.

Tony remained silent as the team offered their advice to Peter through the comms. While he wanted to remain optimistic about Peter’s capabilities as Spider-Man, he had a sinking feeling of dread in his stomach that disaster was imminent.

\-------------------------------------------------

“Alright guys, show me whatcha got!” Peter landed within a circle of thugs. Some had guns, some had crowbars, and some just had fists.

He’d been doing this for nearly an hour, but it felt like he’d been patrolling all day! The enemies just kept coming, and he already had as many bruises and cuts as each day from the previous week of Spider-Manning combined! But it wouldn’t stop him. It couldn’t stop him. New York needed him, but man, did he hope that Tony could get there faster.

He took a deep breath after webbing up the last man. His senses alerted him of distress right down the street. “Here we go again.” He switched out his web cartridge, and then swung in, striking down his first opponent.

\-------------------------------------------------

About an hour and a half in, Peter’s first ask for help came. He panted through the comms, “Do you guys know if Dr. Strange is here, or anyone from the Sanctum, because, like. . .?”

Steve answered, “Dr. Strange and Wong have been M.I.A. for over two months now, Queens. They’re not there.”

Peter cut off the comms for a brief moment as he let out a groan. What was he thinking? He could _not_ handle this. He was sweating, bleeding, his throat and lungs were screaming at him, and he knew that he had some sort of fracture in his face after some guy with brass knuckles clocked him.

Through his end, Tony forced the comms back on. “Peter, hey! Are you still there?”

“Yeahyeah, still here. Just, bad connection or something.”

“Uh-huh.” Tony seemed unconvinced. “I’ve got F.R.I.D.A.Y. looking at your vitals here. Just take a minute, okay. We’re trying to get there as fast as we can, and then we can get you some help, but for now, refuel. You’re not used to this kind of non-stop battle, and you’re gonna wind-up face down on the asphalt if you don’t cool it.”

Peter was glad that Tony couldn’t see him rolling his eyes. Like he could actually take a break at a time like this. In fact, he’d already wasted enough time. He braced himself as he swung back into action.

\-------------------------------------------------

Peter had ignored Tony and his other teammate’s comments about recuperating and reevaluating. Instead, he continued to battle on.

Now, an hour until back-up would arrive, Peter had several broken knuckles and ribs, pieces of his suit and skin had been cut by various assortments of knives, his heart rate and blood pressure were skyrocketing, and worstly, he was nearly out of webs.

“Mr. Stark?! Mr. Stark?!”

The entire team focused in on their youngest member. Throughout the flight, all they could do was listen to Peter’s struggle. While at first, the boy had been full of high spirits and witty banter, now, every smack of flesh, crack of bone, grunt and groan had forced them to try and block it all out unless they were being addressed. They felt absolutely helpless.

Tony, however, was frantically pacing the cabin, willing the jet to go faster. He stopped in his tracks to answer Peter. “What? What is it?!”

“I’ve only got two cartridges of webbing left, and I-” Peter cried out.

Tony swore that he could hear a whistle of sound from Peter’s comms as either a fist or foot was headed straight for his kid. Then, he heard the impact- _Snap!_

The whole team, minus Natasha, cringed as Peter screeched through the comms. Tony quickly cut off the audio throughout the cabin, switching it over to his own personal comms.

“Peter?! Peter?!” Tony kept calling Peter’s name as he pulled up F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s report on the boy’s condition. The red “damage” that was being reported, and was lighting up different areas of Peter’s muscular and skeletal systems, flashed even brighter on his right radius bone. “Dammit! That’s no good. He got his arm broke.” Tony stated to no one in particular; Peter certainly didn’t need to hear it, he could feel it.

Having become exhausted with pacing along the floor, Tony sat down in a chair, clutching the leather armrests. After a few minutes of nothing but haggard breathing on Peter’s end of comms, he asked again, “Peter?”

“Mr. Stark, Karen told me that guy broke my arm. I think-”

“Yeah, I’ve got an injury report pulled up on my end as well. It’s not a compound fracture, right?”

“I didn’t even fight that guy, Mr. Stark. I just let him-”

“Here, don’t worry about the bad guy, Pete. Just let me know how your arm looks, alright.”

There were a few sounds of pain from Peter before he answered, “I don’t really know. I’m kind of holding it right now, and it’s not angled in any weird direction.”

“Okay, that’s good. Do you think you can stabilize it?”

“I can wrap it up with some web pretty tight. Will that work?”

“It’s better than nothing.” Tony listened as he once again heard Peter working through the pain as he wrapped up his arm from the wrist all the way to the elbow. “Now, listen, Peter. That’s a bad injury. Stay safe and out of the way, and we’ll be there as soon as we can.”

“Mr. Stark, I’m not just gonna sit here and wait-”

“Yes, you _are._ ”

“It’s just a broken arm, Mr. Stark. I’ve still got another one. And it barely hurts anymore anyways.” _Compared to the rest of me,_ Peter kept to himself.

“Peter, you said it yourself, you’re almost out of webs, and I bet that little compression wrap really took up some webbing.”

“I can still help. I’m gonna help everyone evacuate, alright? I won’t fight anybody.”

Tony thought through it in his head. Of course Peter could help with the evacuation process. That wouldn’t hurt anybody. Except with Peter Parker, there was always some sort of exception. “Peter, I really don’t think you should-”

“Mr. Stark, I gotta go.”

“Peter!”

Tony didn’t get a response, other than the periodic sound of Peter discharging his web shooters.

\-------------------------------------------------

“I can’t take this anymore. I _can’t._ ” Had Peter not been able to feel the sticky sweat, and hot blood that was plastering his suit to his body, he would have noticed the few tears that had fallen. He cried out once more, in anguish, “I can’t!”

While Peter’s main objective had been to help New Yorkers get off of Manhattan island, he’d run into trouble pretty quickly. What was he supposed to do when a group of psychopaths was surrounding such a small, defenseless family, swing the other way? Now, Peter was entirely out of webs, one arm down, Karen-less after a strong taser had jolted his suit and his own nervous system, and more battered and bloody than ever.

Tony tore his nails across the leather of his seat, having heard the exhaustion and distress in Peter’s voice. The kid was past the end of his rope. This was when the kid needed his hero the most, and all Tony could do was talk to him. “Peter, I need you to focus up right now! We are- guys, what’s our ETA?!” Tony quickly covered his ear with his hand so Peter wouldn’t be able to pick up on the answer.

Clint kept his eyes trained to the horizon, his hand resting on the jet’s throttle lever. “ETA: fifteen minutes.”

Tony uncovered his earpiece, “Peter, listen to me! I’m about eight minutes out, you’ve just got to hold on until then!”

The rapid breaths of Peter hyperventilating were all that Tony could hear. “Peter? Do you copy?!” Tony was already activating the nanotechnology from its place on his chest.

Peter’s voice was frantic. “I’ve got to go back out there. I have to- I don’t- I’ve got to.”

“No Peter, you don’t!”

“I think they’re planting a bomb, Mr. Stark. I have to stop it!”

“Peter, it won’t be long, just stay put!”

“Tony.” Steve was already opening the jet’s back door. “Focus on getting there right now, that’s all you can do. We’ll be right behind you.”

Without a glance to Steve, Tony jumped from the jet and engaged his thrusters. He set a rapid pace, but not enough to diminish too much of his suit’s power. “F.R.I.D.A.Y, give me Peter’s exact location.”

\-------------------------------------------------

There was nothing more terrifying than turning yourself into a target. Nothing but a bullseye for the bad guys. Weaponless. Defenseless. Vulnerable.

But Peter did it. He’d do it for anyone he cared for, or anyone he didn’t care for. He’d do whatever it takes to keep people safe, to keep people alive, to keep children from losing their parents, or to keep nieces and nephews from losing their aunts or uncles. The moment he’d first donned his homemade suit, he’d always known that. But never had it been so hard.

His body had never felt so agonizing, yet so numb. His suit was ripped at nearly every seam, along with the sinew between his muscles and bones. He had his mask pulled up over his mouth and nose, in a desperate attempt to take in more air, but it didn’t really make a difference when he grew surrounded by smoke and flames.

A few bulky silhouettes pushed through the smoke, each seeming unfazed by the acrid air. All were masked, armed, and menacing. Peter could recognize that he was being backed into a corner. As soon as his heel hit the brick wall behind him, he knew that there was one last thing he had to do.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter watched a few of the bad guys flinch and look skywards before they aimed they’re weapons back towards him.

“I’m close, Peter. Just passed 5th Avenue, and I’m-”

“Mr. Stark please just tell all of my friends and Aunt May that I love them.”

“Peter, don’t! I’m-”

“And don’t let Aunt May blame herself, and please, just take care of her for me. Mr. Stark, I’m sorry. I love-”

Iron Man slammed into the asphalt, shooting each and every criminal with a repulsor blast before they’d even realized that the superhero was behind them.

Peter fell into Tony’s arms sobbing.

As much as Tony wanted to comfort and triage Peter, the encroaching smoke was his first priority. Quickly, he hooked his arms beneath Peter’s knees and back, and had them headed for a roof.

Upon landing, Tony gently settled Peter in his lap. The boy was still nearly inconsolable. “Hey, kiddo. Don’t worry. It’s okay.” He gently clasped Peter’s hand. “You’re okay. You’re okay now.”

While Peter kept the one arm tucked to his chest, he wrapped the other around Tony. “I’m done! Please, Mr. Stark! I’m done!”

“Shh, I know, bud.” Tony lightly rubbed the kid’s back, hoping to coax out some deeper breaths. “Just take a minute.”

“Mm-kay.” Peter hiccupped. “‘M so tired, Tony.” Another sob.

“I know you are, kiddo. But we’re gonna get you some rest soon.” Tony quickly had F.R.I.D.A.Y scan Peter, and was grateful to see that, other than the arm, there was nothing some bandages, ice packs, fluids, and rest couldn’t fix.

After a few minutes, Peter still trembling with the aftershocks of pain and adrenaline, he asked, “Where’s the team?”

“Droppin’ in now.”

“I don’t think I can-”

“Don’t worry about it, Pete. You’ve already done enough. They’re gonna take it from here.”

For once, Peter didn’t argue. “‘Kay.”

“And I’m,” Tony shifted Peter back into his arms, slowing his movements when Peter let out a quiet whimper, “gonna take you from here.”

“To the jet?”

“To the Compound and then to the Med-Bay. We’ll patch you up, call your aunt, who is undoubtedly worried sick about you right now, and then get you on your merry way.” Tony let himself quip a little bit, able to tell that it was putting Peter at ease. In fact, Tony could feel the teen starting to go boneless in his grasp, no doubt getting the break his body desperately craved. “By the way, I love you too, kid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, for whatever reason, I cried at one point when I was writing this, which is really really weird, because I NEVER cry when reading or writing, except for ONE story that is wonderfully written by someone who is not me. And also, if you have read "Have You Ever Seen "The Village"?", you know that that would be the work that would warrant crying while writing, and not a short little prompt like this.  
> I think it was because I was listening to the climax of "Dumbledore's Farewell" right as I was writing Peter saying goodbye, and I just- yeah, it was really weird. Look up the song and you won't be disappointed. 
> 
> Also, ten-point Pitch is a really awesome card game that my family got obsessed with!
> 
> Anyways, I hope you guys enjoyed! WithoutSensation will have another prompt for y'all tomorrow!
> 
> -WithACherryOnTop


	3. Imprisonment (Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This is the second prompt that I finished. I have one more to share and WithACherryOnTop still has a few more to share. I was really pleased with how this one turned out, so I hope you guys like it.
> 
> -WithoutSensation

A piercing siren rang throughout Peter’s small cell, echoing off the walls. A single, harsh, fluorescent light illuminated the cell, and Peter was thankful that this morning, he woke up on his side. Whenever he woke up flat on his back, the light would remain etched into his retinas for the entire day.

Peter sat up in his “bed”, scratching absentmindedly at the collar wrapped tightly around his neck. Peter’s “bed” was really just a bench with a thin grey pillow and a coarse, grey, threadbare blanket. He pressed his bare feet against the cold, grey floor and stretched his arms as far over his head as his blue prison attire would allow.

Peter had no idea what time it was. There were no clocks or windows in his cell, or anywhere on the Raft for that matter. All he knew was that it was some time in the morning.

Another sign that it was morning was the food that was then pushed through a tiny slit under the locked door to his cell. The guard charged with feeding Peter used to jeer at him, but that had been months ago, when Peter still offered his own witty comments at the expense of being shocked. But the fight ran out of Peter a long time ago. What was the point? This was his new reality. Now, the meals were delivered and accepted without any words between the two. Peter figured the guard had gotten bored of him now. Peter was no fun if he didn’t talk back.

The meal was always the same: a bowl of oatmeal with a bottle of water. Peter broke the seal on the water bottle, pleased that it had not been tampered with or drugged this morning, and drained the bottle. He was always thirsty here; never so dehydrated that it was a problem, but never given enough to feel satisfied.

The bowl of oatmeal was served without a spoon. Peter liked to just sip it from the bowl, but sometimes it was too thick, and he had to scoop it out with his fingers. There was no sink in his cell, but he liked it when his hand got sticky. He’d press it along the floor or wall and try to remember what it felt like to actually be able to just stick to surfaces.

The drugged oatmeal he was fed every day kept the majority of his strength at bay. Stickiness or not, Peter doubted he’d be able to hold himself up if he crawled up a wall. His reflexes were now similar to any person’s, and his sixth sense was utterly useless. What good was a sixth sense that was constantly going off? How could he tell what was dangerous when everything was dangerous?

The drugs didn’t appear to mess with his enhanced senses though. No, the siren and the lights were still unbearable every morning, causing Peter to have a constant headache. That and the lack of water and nutrients of course.

Peter picked up the bowl, and found that this morning’s porridge was runny enough for him to just tip back. He hoped for any kind of flavoring, but there didn’t appear to be any this morning. Every once in a while, the oatmeal would be flavored, but Peter could count on one hand how often that happened in the past few months. He remembered a brown sugar, cinnamon apple, and even a peanut butter flavored bowl of oatmeal given to him. He’d gotten the cinnamon apple flavor twice now.

After licking the bowl clean, Peter pushed the tray back under the door and figured he’d better get on to the next part of his day. Peter knew that if he did not give himself a schedule, he would likely go insane. Peter figured he would eventually go insane, but he was trying to ward that off for as long as possible.

After breakfast, Peter always worked out. He wasn’t really sure why. There was no reason to stay in shape, and it’s not like he had any extra calories to spare, but Peter wanted to work out. Of course, he was not allowed, or really able, to climb or run up any of the walls. Anything like that earned him a long, strong shock. But, he could still perform basic calisthenic movements. Peter performed dips off of his tiny “bed” and all kinds of different pushup variations. Afterwards, he’d do a series of crunches, situps, leg raises, and planks. To finish, Peter would put himself into a wall sit for as long as it took the guards to come fetch him.

He’d hold the position for sometimes over an hour, staring straight across his tiny cell at the door, waiting for it to open. When it finally opens, Peter immediately drops to his knees, puts his hands behind his back, and looks down at the ground. Why bother making things more difficult? After all, these two guards’ duty was to escort Peter to the bathroom. Peter certainly didn’t want to risk getting any one of his two daily toilet privileges revoked.

The guards stepped in and each grabbed a hold of one of his arms. Peter kept his head down, wanting to avoid getting smacked on the back of the head. He shuffled down the corridor with the guards until they reached what was supposed to be a bathroom.

Peter counted the days in his head, and was happy to realize that today would also be a shower day. He was allowed a shower every three days now. In the beginning, it had only been once a week, but after several weeks of good behavior they knocked it back to every five, and then every three days.

Peter hurried through his business and then stripped down on his way over to the shower head. At first, being naked in front of his guards had caused tears to burn in Peter’s eyes, but he now no longer cared. He was too happy to get a shower and a fresh new set of prison clothes.

The water was ice cold of course, except for when it wasn’t. The water system on the Raft was awful, at least for the prisoners, and it alternated between frigid and boiling water. There was about a three second window where the water was actually a nice temperature, and Peter reveled in those moments. There was no soap or shampoo or anything, but Peter would still run his hands through his hair and try to imagine how his old shampoo and bodywash used to smell. Was it cedar? Mint? Peter shrugged; it’s not like it mattered now.

The water turned off after about five minutes, and Peter made sure to take a few extra swallows of water before it did. Afterwards, Peter grabbed a coarse, grey towel to dry himself off with. He pulled on his clothes and “allowed” the guards to grab his arms. Allowed was really stretching it. They were going to manhandle him whether he “allowed” it or not.

Now came the least favorite part of Peter’s day. They walked back down a corridor, and Peter wasn’t sure if he wanted to go right or left. Going right meant that Secretary Ross was there, and that he was planning to interrogate Peter. Ross’s interrogation technique was not to hurt Peter physically in any way. Ross would rather give updates on how things were going for Peter’s friends and family outside in the world while Peter was rotting inside the Raft.

Peter honestly thought Ross was just making everything up. After all, why would the Secretary of State be following around some enhanced kid’s friends and family? Ross liked to tell Peter that his friends and family were all moving on without him, that they were happier now that Peter was gone. The joke was on Ross though. Peter hoped that his friends and family were moving on, that they were happier. Peter himself sometimes imagined them moving on. May moving on in her career and pursuing her hobbies; Ned excelling in his studies and getting into any top university; MJ meeting somebody who would always love her and be there for her.

The only reason Peter hated going right down that corridor was because he couldn’t stand the smug look on Ross’s face. Sitting and staring at that ugly mug while Ross asked for information about the other Avengers, E.D.I.T.H., etc. was insufferable.

Peter didn’t need to worry though, because the guards led him to the left. Going left meant lab time. Peter used to love lab time with Mr. Stark, but he was less fond of this new lab time. Here, Peter would be subjected to any kind of medical or enhancement testing. It wasn’t usually too bad, but anything could happen. Lately, the scientists had just been taking a few vials of blood a day. Peter had no idea what they did with them, but he hoped it was something good.

Peter was ushered into the room and instructed to lie down on the table in the center of the room. That meant that they were doing medical testing. Whenever they tested his enhancements, they usually threw him on a treadmill or some other Godforsaken equipment.

Peter looked at the instruments from his spot flat on the bed as they strapped him in. He once again “allowed” the guards and doctors to tie him to the bed. In the beginning he had pulled and bucked and fought, but that just wasn’t the case anymore. Too many blows and too many shocks would do that to anyone.

Today the doctors busied themselves in collecting more of his blood. From what Peter could hear, it sounded like they were going to begin collecting bone marrow in the coming weeks. Peter had had that done earlier, and was not looking forward to it. Nothing could compare to the spinal fluid collection though. Peter shuddered in his bonds, causing the doctors to pause. They looked annoyed, as the shudder had dislodged a needle. One doctor took it upon himself to ram the needle back into place, causing Peter to whimper.

After they had collected the blood they needed, they removed all but one needle. Peter was surprised to see them attach a bag of what looked like fluids to an I.V. port in his arm. He figured with his annoying shudder earlier in the procedure that he would not be given any extra fluids or nutrients today, but he certainly wasn’t going to question anything. As if Peter questioned anything anymore. Honestly, he couldn’t remember the last time he had spoken. It had to have been well over a month ago.

Usually the doctors left him alone after he got his fluids and nutrients, so Peter was surprised as to why they were still gathered around him. The answer came when Peter felt an intense wave of nausea crash over him. It wasn’t fluids or nutrients at all in the bag. It must’ve shown on his face, because the doctors immediately removed the head and shoulder straps restraining him. This allowed Peter to sit up, and he immediately vomited all over himself. It was nothing but this morning’s bland, drugged oatmeal, but it was still disgusting.

The doctors didn’t move to help him, and he looked around in confusion. Why did they want him to get sick? Another bout of nausea coursed through Peter, and this time they shoved a dish in front of his mouth. There was nothing to bring up other than bile, which must’ve been what the doctors were collecting. After a few more samples of bile, they detached the bag of fluids and instructed the guards to take Peter back to his cell. They were done for the day.

Standing up made Peter much more nauseous, and he got sick on himself several times on his way back to his cell. The guards didn’t even bother grabbing his arms this time. That was too disgusting for them. Peter was shoved back into his cell, and he collapsed onto the floor. He did everything in his power to avoid vomiting again. All it did was cause his stomach to cramp and bring up a string of bile.

His morning shower seemed like such a waste now, and his clothes would be soiled like this for the next three days until his next shower, or unless the doctors required him to be naked for a test. He hoped they got enough bile, as he did not want a repeat of today’s events.

Eventually, the nausea faded and Peter was pleased to see he’d gotten any vomit on his clothes and not anywhere in his cell. His clothes and body, he could clean. His cell was never cleaned. He’d probably just sleep on the floor tonight too, in order to keep his pillow and blanket from getting soiled. He hated sleeping without a blanket, given how cold his cell always was.

A tray of food was pushed under Peter’s cell door. It contained a sealed water bottle and bowl of rice. No silverware. Peter swished the water around in his mouth, trying to wash out the bile. He didn’t dare spit it out or anything though. Water was not something to be wasted on the Raft.

After finishing the water, Peter moved on to the rice. He plunged his fingers into the bowl and pulled out a scoop of rice. Peter almost did a double take when he noticed that there wasn’t just rice on his hand, but gravy too. Peter’s rice was flavored more often than his oatmeal was. Peter could probably count on two hands the amount of times it was flavored. There was sometimes lime, soy or gravy in it, like this time.

As Peter ate, he weighed the pros and cons of his day. Getting sick on himself was pretty awful, and he’d be hating it for the next few days. But, he did get to take a shower and eat flavored rice, so Peter labeled it as one of his better days.

Peter used the cap of the water bottle to carve a new tally, and then carefully counted all of them. 156. A little over five months.

The cell door began to open, and Peter immediately dropped down onto the ground. He was once again escorted to the bathroom facility. Given that it was a shower day, it was also a day to brush his teeth. He was given only a toothbrush, but it was better than nothing. Peter would scrub his teeth till his gums bled, till the guards told him it was time to go.

As soon as he was deposited back in his cell, the lights went out. Peter laid down on the floor, disgusted by the smell and feel of his vomit stained uniform. Now was the time where Peter would think. He would think about why he was on the Raft.

He wasn’t on the Raft because of destruction of property. He wasn’t there because of obstruction of justice. Not violation of the Accords. Not even the first degree murder of Quentin Beck or Mysterio. No, Peter had provided very clear evidence that Quentin Beck had been lying.

Peter was here because the government needed to make a show of force. Even though Peter was proven innocent, they jumped on the opportunity to get an enhanced individual back on the Raft. Peter was the example. Peter was glad it was himself though, and not somebody like Sam, Clint, Wanda, or Scott. They had already done time on the Raft. And Peter was certainly glad it wasn’t somebody like Thor, Captain Marvel, or Dr. Strange. Those heroes were actually important. No, it was better this way.

Peter thought about his friends and his Aunt May. He thought about how they were hopefully starting to move on. Maybe they really were happier without him like Ross said.

Peter even thought about death on a few occasions. It wasn’t something he liked to do or tried to do, and he would always push it out of his head quickly.

Before Peter would fall asleep though, he thought about freedom. He knew that there was no way for him to escape, not on his own. He would have to bide his time and wait for someone else to get him out. As much as he loved his Aunt May, he doubted she would be able to win Peter’s freedom back. Maybe he could make friends with one of the guards? No, that was entirely too impractical. Maybe somebody would come rescue him like Steve had rescued his friends. Maybe Ross’s heart would grow three sizes one day, and he’d free Peter. Peter chuckled at the thought, and he fell asleep that night with a smile on his face. Today had been a good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this was really depressing to read. I am going to add a part 2 happy ending to this prompt though! Be safe and be happy everybody!
> 
> -WithoutSensation


	4. Impaling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everybody! This is WithACherryOnTop with our next Febu(flop) prompt. Thankfully, this prompt didn't make me cry! I hope that you guys enjoy!
> 
> -WithACherryOnTop

“Alright, that’s gonna wrap us up for today guys. Remember, tomorrow we’re going to be going over the third and final volume of _Emma_ , so make sure that you have all nineteen chapters of the final volume read.” Peter’s freshman English teacher Ms. Wright raised her voice in order to regather the attention of her students. “I _also_ want to see a full, detailed list of every character in the novel, because your final assignment for this novel, which is due Monday, will be creating a detailed web of every character’s connection with the main protagonist Emma Woodhouse.”

Then, Midtown High School’s final bell of the day rang right at 2:45pm.

“Class dismissed. Have great afternoons and see you tomorrow.”

The hustle and bustle of student’s scooching their chairs back, slinging backpacks over their shoulders, and heading towards the classroom door to join with the other crescendoing noise within the school halls was over before it barely began.

The English classroom was quiet and empty except for Peter and his teacher.

“Mr. Parker,” Ms. Wright smiled at him, “I assume there’s something you would like to discuss.”

After being addressed, Peter got out of his chair and stood himself in front of Ms. Wright’s desk. He did have something he wanted to discuss, but he always waited until everyone was out of the classroom before talking with a teacher. “Yeah, sorry Ms. Wright, it’s not super important or anything, and I don’t mean to take up too much of your time.”

“Never a problem, Peter.”

Peter nodded. “Okay, so,” he bounced on his feet, a bit nervous, “we’re getting to the end of the semester, and I’ve got a kind of low A-.”

Ms. Wright pulled up her student’s grades, letting Peter continue. “And I’ve done the math with all of the additional assignments and the final, and I don’t think it’s possible for me to get an A. It’s really close, but it’s still an A-.”

“An A- is a great grade, Mr. Parker, and you’re still one of the top five in the class.” Ms. Wright complimented.

“I know, I know, but, it’s just,” Peter swallowed, “I was wondering if I could do some sort of extra credit, that could boost me a little to that A. Do you have something like that?”

“You know, it’s rare to see a student ask for extra credit in an English class.” The teacher appeared to ponder. “Let me see if there’s something I can come up with, and I’ll let you know tomorrow, okay. I’m not making any promises.”

“Okay, okay, that’s great! Thank you so much Ms. Wright!” Peter thanked her, just able to tell that she would be able to come up with something for him. “Have a great rest of your afternoon!”

“And you as well, Mr. Parker.” Peter headed out into the emptying halls. It was always nice to spend a little time talking with a teacher while waiting for all of the students to leave the school, instead of just hiding out in the bathrooms. To be fair, he did actually have to discuss something important with Ms. Wright. He wasn’t just shooting the breeze to kill time.

Ever since the spider bite, Peter would wait until there was no one around, snatch the suit and webbing from underneath the lockers on the basement level of the east wing, shove said suit and webbing into his backpack, leave school through the industrial shop class door, leap the fence, get something to eat, find somewhere to get changed, and then go patrolling.

While Peter wished that he could just sprint out of the school, and get to his Spider-Man patrol as quickly as possible, it just wasn’t possible. His suit was too bulky for him to carry around in his backpack all day. Someone could easily see the bulging eye goggles he had, or the baggy sweatsuit, anytime that he was grabbing a notebook or a binder. If only he had something much smaller and compact that could sit at the bottom of his backpack where no one would see.

Maybe one day he would, but not today.

Everything was going according to plan, and no one saw Peter lift the heavy lockers or extract his suit and webs.

On his way past the industrial shop classes, Peter did see a few stragglers in the music hallway, but they wouldn’t be able to see him when he left out the door.

Once outside, Peter did a quick cursory glance around the sheltered area of the building, and then prepared to jump the tall, pointy iron fence. He somewhat skipped himself into a flying leap, and right as his feet left the ground, he heard footsteps and voices.

Peter blanched. Someone was going to see him! He faltered mid-air, and then landed straight onto the speared railheads.

Pain radiated all the way up his body and he shouted out in pain. The spears had stabbed right into the backs of his thighs. Instantly, to try and alleviate the pain and keep himself from becoming even further impaled, he grabbed the rail space between the spearheads and held himself up.

“Did you guys hear that?”

_Oh no, they’re gonna see me up here! What do I do?!_ Between the pain, his muddled thoughts, and the mild shock setting in, Peter didn’t have much time to come up with an answer.

“What the Hell are you doing Parker? Trying to climb the fence?” Flash was laughing with a couple of his buddies, all headed to lacrosse practice. “Man, I sure hope you didn’t try to straddle that, Parker, or maybe we were intruding on a special moment?”

All of the boys laughed harder.

Peter couldn’t bring himself to care or respond to Flash’s cruel and inappropriate remarks. Instead, he focused on breathing and trying not to acknowledge the blood he felt seeping out from around the iron points still stuck into his legs.

“Here, guys, let me get a picture of this! This is too good!” Flash whipped out his phone, no doubt the latest edition of whatever was on the market. He took a photo of the whole fence line with Peter at the top, and then, when he zoomed in on Peter, that’s when he saw it. “Oh holy shit! Guys, he’s like stuck on the fence!”

Very quickly all of the boy’s demeanors changed. One announced that he was going to get the coach and athletic trainer, and the other, who was able to see the blood starting to stain Peter’s pants, quickly followed after him. Flash was the only one left with Peter.

“Geez, man! I’m gonna call 911 or an ambulance or something!”

That finally snapped Peter out of his haze. “No, no, Flash! Don’t do that, I’m fine! Really!”

“You’re like, kababbed right now, Peter! What else am I supposed to do?!” Flash was holding the phone up to his ear, ready to talk with the 911 operator.

“Put down the phone, Flash! I’ve got it!” Peter really didn’t have it, but he knew that he needed to be the one to get himself out of this mess. He’d yet to have to deal with doctors since the spider bite, and he didn’t really ever intend to. Without any more preamble, he grit his teeth, and lifted himself up and off of the spearheads.

“Yes, 911? There’s a kid at Midtown High School who got stuck- Oh my God!” Flash cringed and shied away as he saw Peter pull himself free from the fence. “He just like, like, pulled himself off!”

Peter then hopped down from the fence, a considerable height, and before he could think, started running. Hopefully the 911 operator would think Flash was pulling some kind of hoax, and the lacrosse coaches wouldn’t believe Flash or his friends, but he still needed to get out of there fast.

Peter felt extremely out of his head. He had adrenaline and shock pumping through his system, and he couldn’t even feel his legs. They were absolutely numb, and that was probably for the best.

_What am I gonna do?! Oh God, I’m bleeding! Am I bleeding?! The metal isn’t still in me, right?_ Peter had no plan as he was sprinting through the streets of New York City. He could see people giving him annoyed and confused looks as he plowed through, and he even heard a few people call out to him in concern, no doubt seeing the blood on the back of his pant legs.

As soon as he could, he found an unoccupied alley where he could calm down and assess.

As he pulled off his backpack, Peter’s very first conclusion was that the pain was catching up to him. As much as he wanted to find a way to make it stop, he knew that he needed to stop whatever bleeding he had first.

“Okay, Peter. We’re good.” He spoke aloud as he prepared himself for the upcoming pain. As gingerly as he could, he unbuckled and unzipped his pants, and then pulled them down to his knees. Thankfully, his pants were loose enough that they didn’t touch the wounded skin.

Once his pants were down, he very carefully tried to turn his upper body in order to see what the damage was. Given his vantage point, and the place of injury, it was extremely hard to see. _Geez, what I sight I must be right now. Pants down in a dark alley looking like I’m trying to see my butt._ Eventually, Peter gave up, and knew that he’d have to make his judgements based on feeling.

In order to get the bleeding stopped, he planned to do what he did for most patrols that went awry, web it up. Waddling over to his backpack, he pulled out a web shooter and put it on his right wrist. Dexterously, he crawled his hand around the back of his leg, where he found the puncture wound. It didn’t feel like a mess of ground beef, so he figured that the spearhead railing hadn’t pulled out any of his hamstring muscle. Once again, gritting his teeth, he webbed up the wound, and then repeated it with the other side.

Afterwards, too nervous to sit down, and too jelly-legged to consider pulling up his bloody pants, he braced his hands up against the wall for a minute, weighing his options. Was this something he could handle? Or should he go to May?

If Peter went to May, he quickly realized that it wasn’t going to work out. Maybe he could try and lie his way through, “Oh yeah, Spider-Man saved me, and then webbed up my wounds, and then got me to the hospital where I told him you worked, and now I’m here, and I just need you to take care of me,” but then, how would he explain his accelerated healing rate to the doctors, or his unusual ability to burn through pain medication like there was no tomorrow.

This would be something he had to take care of himself, and fast. Walking, or taking the subway to Queens would not be fast. Plus, everyone would be stopping him and asking him if he was okay if he stayed in his current attire.

Peter knew that he’d have to Spider-Man his way home, and hopefully not pass out in the process. Easy-peasy.

Peter winced a few times as he pulled his sweatpants up and over the webbing, trying not to get the two materials too stuck together, but he managed to get his whole suit on pretty quickly. Then, Peter webbed his way home.

\-------------------------------------------------

Upon arriving home, Peter was surprisingly quick to spring into action. With coming to terms that he would have to perform some sort of triage himself, it filled him with a new burst of energy and even confidence. Maybe it was just due to another surge of adrenaline or something, but dare he say, he felt excited. He could do this! Of course, only time would tell how well that big talk would fend against pain.

His first order of business, like anytime he came home from patrolling, was to get rid of the suit, the webbing, and the web shooters. He stripped himself, and then pulled on an old Midtown sweatshirt. He didn’t have to Google that after most “traumatic” injuries, it was best to keep the patient warm, and the sweatshirt would have to do the job. He didn’t, however, put on any sweatpants, staying in his boxers.

He knew that no matter how hard he tried, blood was bound to get everywhere, so he maneuvered himself, along with his laptop, into the bathroom. This was also the location of the great Parker Medical Kit.

“Okay, so what do I need to look up? How to treat a puncture wound, or. . .” Peter figured that that was exactly what he needed to look up, and very quickly he found a source from the Mayo Clinic. Those doctors were wicked smart, so this was obviously very trustworthy. The instructions seemed simple enough: wash hands, stop the bleeding, clean the wound, apply antibiotic cream, cover the wound, and then change the dressings for however long it took the wound to heal.

Peter was just finishing washing his hands when his eye caught the header of the next paragraph in the article, “Seek prompt medical care”. His eyes then scanned the conditions that required prompt medical care. The first was if the wound “keeps bleeding after a few minutes of direct pressure”.

Peter glanced behind him, and saw three rivulets of red sliding down his leg from the now red patch of webbing attached to each leg. “Okay, but I haven’t like, put _direct_ pressure on the wounds yet. Only compression webbing. So I’m good.”

The next condition was if the wound was “the result of an animal or human bite”. Peter checked that condition off of the list.

The next condition was if the wound was “deep and dirty”. In Peter’s defense, he couldn’t really tell. He turned around and then looked at his back side in the mirror. Carefully, he started to peel off the saturated webbing. It completely lost its sticky ability with the blood, so it didn’t even hurt as bad as a band-aid. He threw it in the trash, and then buried it under some toilet paper so May wouldn’t see it whenever she got home from her shift that night. Some blood came trickling out after the removal of the webbing, but the wound didn’t look dirty, in Peter’s opinion. “I don’t really want to learn how deep it is.” He muttered to himself. He then checked that condition off of the list.

The next condition was whether the wound was “caused by a metal object”. Peter stared at that condition for a second. “Oh. Okay.” Well, it didn’t matter, he was still doing it himself.

He was about to start with his next step on officially stopping the bleeding when the next condition that warranted prompt medical care caught his eye.

He would have to seek prompt medical care if the wound was “deep and to the head, neck, scrotum-” “Oh! Gross!” Peter stopped reading and shivered. What would have happened had he landed on the fence just a few inches further forward? He probably would have _had_ to go to the hospital, or face permanent disfigurement. Actually, he’d have probably died, or wished he’d died after Flash took pictures of it. He was extremely thankful that the spearheads had gone into his hamstrings, and nowhere else important.

Overall, Peter realized, he should probably be in the hospital, but that just wasn’t going to happen. So, he pulled a couple of gauze packs from his first aid kit.

_If I want direct pressure, should I lay down, or. . .?_ Upon it being very difficult to stand up and reach his arms down and around to put direct pressure on the backs of his legs, he realized that he needed to be lying down on the floor.

After lying a dark, _dark_ towel on the floor, Peter laid down on top of it face first. He then realized just how difficult this was going to be. He needed the bleeding to be stopped after a few minutes of direct pressure, but the position he would have to be in would be extremely uncomfortable to hold. He quickly set a timer for 2 ½ minutes, and started it, knowing it would take him a little while to get in the proper position.

Peter grabbed three or four layers of square gauze in each hand, and then bowed his back so his hands could reach his hamstrings. It looked like a yoga beginner trying to achieve the cobra position with the worst posture possible. Without much more thought, he pressed his hands over the puncture wounds. “Ow! _Shit!_ ”

Due to the pain, Peter almost lost his purchase, and nearly face planted onto the floor. He stopped himself in the nick of time.

Within seconds, his lower back, neck, and butt were hating him, and he was quickly starting to pant and sweat. “This is so stupid.” Peter quit talking, feeling his efforts break his precarious balance.

After nearly two minutes, the timer blessedly went off, and Peter dropped to the floor, his teeth clacking as his chin banged into the tile. “Dammit.” On his way down, Peter had felt himself slightly push his hands off of his wounds. He slowly looked back over his shoulder, and saw his left leg wound starting to bleed once more. Any sort of clot that had occurred in the minutes he’d been applying direct pressure were gone.

Peter sighed and dropped his head. He really wished that he had someone to help him in times like these. _No one_ knew about Spider-Man: not May, not Ned, not Liz, not Flash, not MJ, not anybody. It would be so great to be in a position where he could confide in someone to take care of him, but that wasn’t about to happen anytime soon. “Okay. Next step.”

Peter knew that this next step would be best done in the tub. There was no point in getting too many liquids all over the floor. After slowly rising, he searched the kit and made sure to find the hydrogen peroxide instead of the 91% isopropyl alcohol. He wanted the bubbly stuff, not the burning stuff.

Stepping into the bathtub, being careful not to slip, Peter turned his upper body around so he could see and pour the hydrogen peroxide over the wounds. Like he had hoped, the hydrogen peroxide didn’t leave a horrible burn in its wake, and it still flushed out the punctures pretty well. “Yeah, those don’t look dirty at all.”

Upon turning himself back around, Peter was hit with a wave of dizziness, and he carefully braced his hands against the bathroom wall tiles. He took measured breaths as the black dots danced within his vision. After they didn’t go away, Peter shut his eyes with a groan. “God, please don’t pass out. Don’t pass out.”

After about a minute, Peter opened his eyes, happy to see his vision not darkening out. “Okay, next step.” Apply an antibiotic. One antibiotic that the Mayo Clinic article mentioned was Neosporin, and that was all that Peter saw within his first aid kit. “Neosporin it is.”

The Neosporin tube was pretty tiny, so Peter squirted about what he considered half of it onto a cotton ball, and then the other half onto another cotton ball. Looking back, his left leg wound was still bleeding, but very lazily.

Figuring that if he lied down on the floor once again, he wouldn’t get back up, Peter bowed his back while standing up, and applied the Neosporin. He winced and gasped a few times in pain. Rubbing something into a wound was much more painful than pouring liquid over it, and the Neosporin’s pasty, jelly-like texture was cold and nasty going into the wound. However, it was very helpful in plugging up the bleeding.

The final step was next, and all Peter had to do was cover and dress the wounds. He figured that he would just wrap a couple of squares of gauze up with some medical tape around each leg. As he was laying his tools out on the bathroom sink, he began to think about whether or not this was the appropriate way to go about treating the wound. If he were in a hospital, would they just wrap it up? Would they pack the wound?

Peter had remembered hearing stories from May about wound packing, and how it was used for very deep wounds. Because Peter didn’t know how deep his wounds were, he figured he should look into it.

The top article that came up on Google for “how do I pack a wound” was from a company that sold some sort of wound packing Smart Pac. Peter read through the numerous steps, and each one seemed so extensive, and sterility was a huge factor in packing a wound.

The instructions on using cotton balls to push packing into all areas of the wound made Peter’s stomach roil. That sounded incredibly painful, and now that all excitement, confidence, and adrenaline was gone, it also sounded extremely unpleasant and not up Peter’s alley.

Peter also figured that with his advanced healing factor, his body would reject the packing and/or push it out to the point where it was useless. He decided he would stick with his plan of tightly wrapping and gauzing the exterior of the wound.

After all was said and done, Peter was ready to crash, but he knew he couldn’t do that. After pulling on a loose pair of sweatpants he set about cleaning up the bathroom. He got the towel in the laundry, all bloody cotton and gauze buried in the trash, droplets of blood wiped up, and the Parker Medical Kit returned to its place, hopefully looking as if it hadn’t been used.

Then, finally, Peter could get his body some much needed rest. He could already feel his face starting to flush with a mild fever. Whether that was from all of the excitement from the past hour or infection, hopefully it would get better by the next day. He pulled a Gatorade from the fridge, and slowly started working on the cold, sweet liquid as he made his way to his bed.

Peter laid down on his stomach, and then set an alarm for 7:30pm. He didn’t want to sleep too long. After all, he had homework and studying to do.

\-------------------------------------------------

Peter was standing on the subway, nearly at his stop for Midtown High School. His evening and night had gone well. He’d woken up to his alarm, his fever down. Then, he fixed himself some mac and cheese to eat, finished all of his homework, studied for his Algebra test, and greeted May after she came home from her shift. Throughout it all, he’d been achy and sore, but not so much so that it was unbearable or that May noticed.

Then, Peter had gone to sleep and woken up extra early to change the bandaging. Looking at his wounds in the mirror, the punctures had been almost entirely closed. However, as much as he had hated to admit it, Peter knew that he still probably shouldn’t patrol after school. After all, school was going to be enough of a challenge because he actually had to sit down in chairs all day, and because he had to go to gym class. He would take it all on, nonetheless.

\-------------------------------------------------

Peter’s school day went relatively well. No one would question him when he took a slight pause every time before he sat down, or why he was always so far on the edge of his seat. Flash had cornered him at one point, asking with genuine concern, surprisingly, if he was okay. Peter had been quick to tell him that the wounds were all really minor and that his aunt, who was a nurse, had helped him take care of it. After hearing that Peter was okay, Flash switched back over to his bully side, and had told Peter, “Figures. Poor Peter Parker probably can’t even afford health insurance. Good thing Auntie Em was able to fix everything for him.”

Another positive to the school day was that Peter had completely nailed his algebra test. He had time to check all of his answers twice, and he was able to do all of the bonus problems. He guessed that he’d get at least 105% overall.

However, coming home from school, Peter could not help feeling a little bit down. He really was feeling much better, and maybe he shouldn’t have left his suit at home so that he could be on patrol right now.

His trek home, without swinging through the city, wasn’t all for naught. He did manage to pass by an old, broken down looking computer edging its way right outside of a dumpster. He quickly snatched it up, knowing that he’d be able to fix and rebuild it with Ned.

Then, right outside of his apartment, he saw a beautiful Audi R8, parked simply as if it belonged there, but that didn’t make much sense to Peter. He didn’t know anyone in the building who had or could afford a car like that. He took a few minutes to admire it, and then headed inside and to the elevator.

After unlocking his apartment door, and finding his way inside, he was happy to hear May’s voice, indicating that she hadn’t picked up an extra shift. “Hey, May.” He grunted as he pulled off his backpack and tweaked his nearly healed right leg.

“Hey.” May replied. “How was school today?”

“It was okay.” Peter answered. “There’s this crazy car parked outside.” He finally turned to look at his aunt when he froze, seeing that she had a companion.

Sitting on the couch was Peter’s idol, Tony Stark.

There was a brief moment of silence as May smiled at Peter’s reaction, and then Tony acknowledged his future protégé. “Oh, Mr. Parker.”

Finally, Peter wasn’t alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Peter Parker, but yay for Iron-Dad! This was really fun to write, and a couple of times, I would laugh because of the odd circumstances, but also feel bad because those would be really scary, difficult situations for a kid who was fourteen at the time.   
> I hope you guys liked this prompt, and either I or WithoutSensation will add another prompt tomorrow. It depends on whether or not WithoutSensation can crank out a happy ending for the "Imprisonment" prompt fast enough and to their liking.
> 
> -WithACherryOnTop


	5. Insomnia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, it's WithACherryOnTop back with another prompt. 
> 
> For this prompt, I had it that Peter has acute insomnia, which is a condition that lasts several weeks. Peter doesn't have chronic insomnia, which is a condition that is much more long-term, lasting months or more. In all honesty, this might even seem more like sleep deprivation, but this was the idea that popped in my head when I first heard "insomnia". I hope you enjoy!
> 
> -WithACherryOnTop

Peter, grocery bag in hand, stepped inside his apartment and slammed the door shut, frustrated.

May, knowing the exact reasons for Peter’s frustrations, stayed light and positive. It was not to be smug, but to hopefully help Peter calm down, and not do something he would regret, like lash out at May. “Hi, honey. What’d you buy today?”

Peter glared at his aunt, hating how she was pretending she and Tony weren’t the cause of his misery. “Same stuff as always.”

“That’s okay. Maybe just try not to use as much of it tonight?” May asked with hope.

Peter rolled his eyes. “Yeah, like that’ll happen.”

May tried asking another question, maybe one with an answer that would light up Peter’s dull eyes. “Well how was school today? Anything fun or different happen?”

Even though there had been a decently entertaining fire alarm false alarm, Peter still didn’t bite. “No. And it was like always: not good.”

“Oh, sweetie, that’s not true. There are bad days, but they aren’t always that way.” May continued smiling. “What made today so ‘not good’?”

“Well,” Peter quickly collected the list in his head, “first off, there was a stupid assignment I had forgotton about for physics, second off, Flash and his candy-ass buddies ruined my chemistry lab today,”

May’s smile immediately dropped upon Peter’s choice in dialogue. “You will not use language like that with me, young man.”

Peter continued as if he hadn’t heard her, “And finally, you and Tony still won’t let me go out on patrol, so there’s that too!”

“And you know very well why, Peter.” May crossed her arms, feeling her attempted calming aura fade.

“No, I really don’t, because like I told you guys, I’ll get over it myself!” Peter yelled, starting to head towards his room. “But taking Spider-Man away sure as Hell doesn’t make me feel better!”

“You’re the only one making yourself feel bad, Peter. That’s not on us, it’s on you.” May received a slammed door as her reply.

\-------------------------------------------------

Upon arriving into his room, Peter quickly avoided both the first and last place he wanted to be right now: his bed. He was so, so, so tired, but he didn’t dare sleep. That’s when he saw _him_ , and the building, and the plane, and the. . .

Peter pushed himself out of his own thoughts, instead, choosing to lay out his arsenal for the night. In his grocery bag, he had individual pods of espresso for the coffee machine he had installed in his room, a six pack of Red Bull, and enough candy bars so he could eat one every thirty minutes. That would be plenty to get him through this night.

However, before any of the “not sleeping” happened, Peter did need to finish his homework. It frustrated him to know that the reason he’d forgotten his physics assignment was because he was so scatterbrained whenever he was on a caffeine high, so now, he would be doing all of his homework before he had any of his drinks or candy.

Peter also went over a list in his head about all that he could make himself do in order to keep from falling asleep. He’d reinstalled his _Beast Slayers_ game so he could play that, he could try and fiddle around and improve his web shooters, he could just stare at his Spider-Man suit, wishing that he could go out in it, he could work on his Spanish, he could take a cold shower, he could. . . It wasn’t very hard to complete, considering he’d been doing it for the past 2 ½ weeks.

To say that Peter had gone without sleep for 2 ½ weeks would be a lie, but he had gone that long without falling asleep before 3:00am each night, and without staying asleep for more than an hour.

Due to the lack of sleep, Peter had large, dark bags under his eyes, aggressive caffeine crashes, increasing irritability, loss of appetite, and even loss of muscle mass. It was for those reasons that May and Tony had both grounded Peter from Spider-Man.

“I don’t know, Tony. He _still_ came home today with all of the energy drinks, coffee, and candy. And, he even raised his voice at me and cursed at me!” May exclaimed into the phone.

_“He cursed at you?”_

“Well, I guess not technically at me, but he hardly _ever_ speaks like that around me, unless there’s a big problem going on.”

_“How’s he looking, physically, I mean?”_

“He looks awful, Tony! And I don’t know what to do. I don’t really think that this waiting game is doing him any good. He’s _still_ mad about Spider-Man.”

_“He knows that he gets Spider-Man back when he starts sleeping again.”_

“I just don’t know if that’s gonna happen, Tony. At least, not without some kind of help. All he ever tells me is that he doesn’t want to sleep because he has bad dreams.”

_“Believe me, I know that. But I still think that we should give him until the end of the week before we start making him take some bigger steps.”_

“I know, Tony, but it just seems like he doesn’t have that long. I mean, I _know_ that he’ll be alright, but I just want him to get better as soon as possible, and that can’t happen unless he sleeps.”

_“That’s kind of a part of it, May. Peter can’t get better until Peter decides to sleep. And Peter can’t decide to sleep until Peter tells either you or me exactly what’s bothering him. With everything that happened with the Vulture those couple of weeks ago, I know little to almost nothing, and I guarantee that you’re in the same boat. Peter’s choosing to be alone in this, and he needs to know that he needs to be the one to ask for help.”_

“I just feel like I could be doing more to get him to open up.”

_“I know, and if it comes to that, it comes to that. But, for now, Peter’s still trying to prove to you, or me, or himself, that he can handle this kind of thing by himself. Sooner or later, and I’m really voting on sooner, he’s going to figure out that that is not the case. He’ll tell either of us, or both of us, everything, and then, we’ll be able to start properly working towards solutions.”_

“You’re the superhero, and I know that this is kind of a superhero thing, but I just hope that you’re right, Tony.”

_“I’ve seen it from so many guys up here at the Compound. New, fresh S.H.I.E.L.D. agents who go through something traumatic, and then bottle it up, only to have it all come bubbling out. But then, they get better. They become better. And then, they start helping out other guys with the same problems, and the cycle repeats. As bad as it seems, Peter’s the one who needs to find his breaking point, and then, the Vulture, and anything he goes through afterwards, he’ll be able to get through with help from you, me, or the team, if he ever wants to be a part of it.”_

“Oh, I’m sure he does. But he’s definitely not ready for it yet.”

_“At least not until he gets through this.”_

There was a long silence from both ends of the call line before May finally spoke. “Yeah, I guess so. Well, I guess I better let you go, Tony. I’ve gotta make him some dinner that isn’t just straight sugar, like he seems so eager to eat anymore. Take care, Tony.”

_“Take care, May. Tell the kid I said ‘hi’, that is, if you think it will make him happy.”_

“At this point, I honestly don’t know anymore. Bye, Tony.”

_“Bye, May.”_

The call ended.

With a sigh, May stood. Maybe instead of cooking, she’d order something from a restaurant. First, she looked up foods that helped people sleep. One item that was heavy enough in calories to support a growing enhanced teenager was salmon. Then, there were things like cherries, walnuts, kiwis, and even lettuce.

May figured that she would order two salmon from a local restaurant that did “to-go” orders, and then, she could make a large salad for the two of them, filled with walnuts, cherries, and kiwi. While that wasn’t exactly a salad that she had ever eaten or heard of before, she’d do anything to help Peter sleep.

May grabbed a coat, and then pulled her purse up onto her shoulder. Before leaving, she stopped outside of Peter’s door. “Peter, I’m going to go and get us some dinner, okay?”

There was no response.

“Okay.” May walked away from Peter’s door, and then headed out.

\-------------------------------------------------

As soon as Peter saw kiwi in the large salad helping that May had put on his plate, he knew that something was up. The Parker family didn’t eat kiwi. The Parker family couldn’t afford kiwi. While Peter had squinted quizzically at May, hoping to get some sort of answer out of her, she never looked him in the eye the entire dinner.

To be fair, May didn’t really have much of a reason to look at Peter. Neither of them spoke, and Peter looked like he always looked since the night of homecoming- like he only wanted to be in his room. Therefore, May left him to himself, eating her own salad and salmon.

Uncharacteristically, Peter, after having finished his dinner, asked to be excused, where he went into his room to get ready for his night.

Peter never came out of his room for the rest of the evening, not even to say goodnight to May.

\-------------------------------------------------

Peter sat, shaking at his computer desk, trying to keep his eyes open. This night was proving especially difficult in trying to stay awake through.

Peter’s room was filled with the warm smell of freshly brewed coffee, the light of his laptop, which he had on its highest setting of brightness, and tons of crumpled up energy drinks and candy wrappers.

Usually, Peter was able to portion out when he would eat or drink from his arsenal of sleep-fighting weapons, but on this night, his body was giving up on him. It just kept pulling him further and further into sleep, sleep that Peter was forcing himself to deny. He was nearly out of his espresso, all of his energy drinks were gone, there was one Kit-Kat bar and one Snickers bar left, and it was only 1:25am.

He tried staying invested in his video game, learning that trying to improve his Spanish would only make him more tired, but even that was proving difficult.

The caffeine-crash shakes were not helping him either. His skin felt like it had bugs crawling underneath it, and he had an absolutely _awful_ headache. He could also feel his stomach starting to revolt, and just the thought of his dinner made him suddenly feel like he needed to make a break for the bathroom.

On trembling legs, Peter headed straight for the bathroom, in which he got down on his knees in front of the toilet, and proceeded to vomit everything that he had eaten and drank in the last twelve hours. The taste and the smell was far worse than any other vomiting episode Peter had ever had. The strength of the coffee, with the super-sweet cherry of the energy drink, and the fishiness of the salmon was absolutely horrendous on Peter’s senses.

It took _forever_ to expel everything too.

When he had finally finished, Peter’s knees gave out, and he sat back on the bathroom floor. Then through the ragged breaths, he started to cry.

\-------------------------------------------------

May awoke from her very light sleep by the sound of crying. _Peter!_

Slipping out of bed and out of her room, May headed towards the bathroom, where she saw light creeping out from under the door. “Peter?” She knocked on the door. “Peter, can I come in.”

Upon getting no response other than quiet sobs, May opened the door. Immediately she was hit with the stench of sick. However, as a nurse who had had to deal with some very interesting smells before, it didn't phase her one bit. Instead, she headed straight for her crying nephew, bundled up on the floor.

“Oh, Peter, what’s the matter, baby?”

Peter didn’t look like he planned on answering, or like he planned on getting up.

May crouched down beside him and began rubbing his back, hoping it would help him calm down. “Okay. It’s okay, Peter. It’s alright.”

Peter made a congested noise in the back of his throat before he responded, “N-No, it’s n-not.” He then continued crying.

May continued with her soothing. “Well, it’ll be okay.”

After a few more minutes, May identified that Peter’s shaking wasn’t from his vomiting spell or from his crying. She figured it was a caffeine crash, which would be extremely likely now that all of the caffeine had been purged from his system. “Okay, Peter. Let’s get back to bed.”

Peter didn’t make a sound of acknowledgment.

May patted the boy on the back once more, stood up, and then proceeded to flush the filthy toilet bowl. She then turned to her nephew and extended her hand, “Come on, baby. Back to bed.”

Peter took her hand, and was fully okay with being led back to his room, that was until he actually stood up. “W-Wait a s-sec.” Peter gagged and threw up one last bout of bile into the toilet. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, I’ll take care of it.” May let Peter rinse his mouth out before leading him out of the bathroom and towards her room?

“M-May? I c-can go b-back to my o-own r-room.” Peter started to pull himself from May’s grip.

“I think you need to try something else, Peter. And you’re really ill right now, and I want to be able to take care of you. There’s nowhere for me to sleep in your room, and my bed is big enough for the both of us.” May told him.

“I w-want to g-go to m-my room, M-May.”

“So you can what, Peter, keep playing your video games, reciting your Spanish at un-Godly hours, and playing with the suit you aren’t ever going to get back until you get yourself some sleep?!”

Peer started to cry once more “P-Please, May, you d-don’t unders-stand!”

May sighed, pulling Peter into a hug, her own tears springing to her eyes. “I would if you would tell me, Peter. Please!”

Peter didn’t answer her, continuing to cry. However, he didn’t protest May as she started to lead him into her room and to her queen-sized bed.

May laid Peter onto his back, where he continued to hiccup and sob. She tucked the comforter around him and then rubbed his chest. “Come on, big guy. Deep breaths. We’re gonna get to the bottom of this. Just calm down.” She gave his chest a few light pats. “I’m gonna be right back, baby.”

Peter’s only protest was a small whine.

May left the room, leaving the door wide open so that Peter wouldn’t be completely in the dark, something he seemed to hate ever since homecoming. First, she put some water on the stove to boil, and then, she grabbed a water bottle from the fridge.

Returning to her room, May saw Peter sitting up. She propped Peter’s pillows up a bit, but still gently pushed him back into them. “Just stay lying back, sweetie. You’re coming down from a caffeine high, so I want you to drink as much of this as you can.” She handed Peter the water bottle.

With shaking fingers, Peter unscrewed the cap, and then took a few sips of water. With his shaking hand, some of the water wound up down his front, but for the most part, he was able to get most of it in his mouth. It did, however, take effort, and Peter quickly grew tired and handed the water back to May. She didn’t mind, knowing she would hand it back over to him within a minute.

“T-Thanks, May.”

“Of course, sweetie.”

It went on for a few minutes, May and Peter exchanging the water bottle back and forth until all of its contents were finally gone.

May then rose to go and set up the chamomile tea she planned to give to Peter to help him sleep.

“W-Wait. Where are y-you g-going?”

“I’m just going and getting you some tea, Peter.”

Peter’s face crumpled. He knew that May was going to try and make him drink some sort of sleep-inducing tea. “P-Please, May. I d-don’t wanna s-sleep.”

“Shh, it’s okay, Peter.” May comforted. “I’m not going to make you sleep.”

“K-Kay. Just d-don’t let me f-fall a-asleep.”

May smiled. “I won’t.”

\-------------------------------------------------

May re-entered her room, a mug in her hand. The chamomile was still steeping, but she didn’t want to leave Peter alone for long.

“I’m back, Peter.” May set the mug on the nightstand. Instead of kneeling at the bedside, she crawled into bed next to Peter.

Peter wiggled his body closer to May’s. She could feel the teen practically vibrating against her, his caffeine shakes giving him little control of his body.

“Now, I want. . .” May paused, remembering that Tony had said that this needed to be a decision that Peter made. “It seems to me that you want to talk to me about something.” While Peter had yet to say anything along the lines of “May, I wanna tell you something,” May could see it clear as day in his body language.

Peter sniffed and clasped his hands together tightly, trying to get everything to stop shaking. “I g-guess. N-not really, but. . . I _can’t_ sleep, May.” Had he not been all cried out, some tears would have probably fallen.

May grabbed the mug from the nightstand, and then brought it to Peter’s lips, knowing he would be unable to keep the tea from spilling himself. Peter slurped the hot tea a little bit, making a face at the strange, earthy taste. May held the tea mug in her lap. “Why not, Peter?”

“B-Because, everytime I close m-my eyes, I’m b-back there.”

“Back where, Peter?”

“In his c-car. Under the w-warehouse. S-Swinging from the p-plane. St-Stuck in the s-sand. I-In the f-fire.” It all came flooding out of Peter.

“What is all of that, Peter?”

Peter just shook his head.

“Please. It helps me know how to help you, honey.” May put the mug back up to Peter’s lips, letting him take a few sips.

After swallowing, Peter took a deep breath, and then told May everything.

\-------------------------------------------------

Once everything was all said and done, Peter had stopped shaking, the tea was gone, both of them had stopped crying, and May had a much greater understanding of her nephew, and all that he had been through to be the best Spider-Man he could be.

Peter had told her that on the night of homecoming, after coming home, he had tried to sleep, but instantly been riddled with nightmares. His blankets and comforter had felt suffocating, just like when he had been trapped under the rubble, and, he had seen those horrible green eyes, felt the sweltering heat of the burning plane and sand, and he had been awoken by the huge explosion that had erupted from Toomes’ failing suit.

“But May, the thing that I think that keeps me up the most is that I would have _failed_ if Toomes’ suit hadn’t malfunctioned like it did. He would have just left me there, probably to burn up and die, and he would have gotten away with Tony’s stuff. Tony asked me to become an Avenger, and he said that he was proud of me, but I wouldn’t have been able to catch Toomes if it hadn't been for that explosion. I would have lost, the Vulture would still be at large, and Tony would have never given me the suit back.”

“I know, Peter. But that _didn’t_ happen. And that’s what your body and mind need to accept so that you can stop worrying and rest.” At some point in Peter’s story, May had lowered her voice into a whisper, hoping to help Peter’s body get into sleep mode.

“It’s just so hard, May. It’s everytime I close my eyes. I just don’t think I’m good enough for this sort of superhero stuff anymore.”

“Yes, Peter, you are good enough. With every mission or every patrol, you could ‘What if?’ to your heart’s content, but that isn’t reality. You have so many people, living and dead, I think, that are on your side and are there to help.”

Peter turned his head at that.

“It might sound strange or silly, but I know that Ben’s been keeping an eye on you, and he would be so proud of all that you’ve done. Prouder than Tony, if that’s even possible. Who knows, maybe he was there that night, and he messed with one of those Vulture guy’s turbine thingies.”

Peter smiled and laughed, not only because of May’s description of the Vulture’s wings, but also because she was probably right.

“But, I think that, in order for you to keep being the best Spider-Man you can be, you need to start by getting a good night’s rest.”

“I know. I just can’t help that I’m scared.” It was much easier for Peter to admit his vulnerabilities when he was so exhausted.

“Firstly, just lay back, Peter.” May helped Peter get into position, and once again tucked the blankets around her nephew. She also brought her hand up to rest in Peter’s hair, pushing it back and forth and scratching his scalp in order to relieve all of the tension billowing in Peter’s head and mind. “Nothing or no one is ever going to be able to hurt you, Peter. You’re too good for that. You’re too kind for that. You’re too strong for that. And you’ve got me, and Tony, and Ben, all here to help protect you and keep you safe. You never have to go through any of this alone. We will always be here with you.”

May continued her ministrations long after Peter had fallen asleep. Similarly to Peter, she felt as if an immense weight had been lifted off of her shoulders. Peter, and their little family was going to be okay. She was sure of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's so fun, is I remember writing this and thinking, "This is really good, and I'm pretty proud of it." and now, I've reread it, and YEESH! I don't think it's bad, it's just that I'm not as proud of it as my other works. However, instead of editing it, or not posting, or changing it, I'm leaving it the way that it is so I can remind myself that I am just not that great at short writing prompts.
> 
> I will most likely be posting again tomorrow, and I can not promise when WithoutSensation will have that final prompt finished, only that it won't be too much longer, and that it will be great! I've seen the outline.
> 
> -WithACherryOnTop


	6. "Hey, Hey, This is No Time to Sleep"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everybody! It's WithACherryOnTop back with her final prompt of this Febu(flop)! Sorry I'm a little bit late, but I've got a longer one for you! Of the four prompts that I wrote, this one was the longest (a little over 4500 words).
> 
> So, I've got Miles Morales in the picture now, which is awesome, but of course, Miles has yet to make an actual appearance in the MCU. I love Spider-Man Into the Spider-Verse so much, and I also love the Marvel's Spider-Man: Miles Morales video game. Of course, in the movie, Jefferson Davis is alive, but in the video game, he is dead. For this work of fiction, obviously, Miles' dad is going to be alive, and his mannerisms are akin to those in Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse. Y'all can picture them to look however you like. I hope I didn't bore you. Enjoy!
> 
> -WithACherryOnTop

Unintentionally, Peter slammed into the apartment’s fire escape, his ribs and stab wound not appreciating the impact. He clung to the outside of the railing, bracing himself to swing his legs over. He figured that he’d do better just climbing the stairs, instead of webbing his way up, like he was used to.

_Come on, Peter. Just a little further._

Peter took a deep breath, both hands grabbing either side of the staircase’s railing. He had at least five or six flights to make before he reached the right apartment level. Huffing and puffing, one step at a time, he went all the way up until he saw the railing with the large chink in it. This was the right floor.

Now, Peter just needed to stick himself to the dark, old brick until he was four windows to the left. While normally he would be much more careful to stay out of sight, the very late hour made him more lenient with his meneuverments.

Finally, Peter made it to his destination. He pulled off his mask, taking in much needed air. As quietly as possible, he knocked on the windowpane. He knew that with the occupant’s enhanced senses, they would be able to hear it.

It didn’t take long at all for the apartment window to be ripped open.

“Oh my gosh, Peter!”

“Sorry, Miles. I just need to crash here for a little while.” With that, Peter practically fell through the window, bumping into the radiator on his way down. “Ow, crap! Sorry about that.” He situated himself on the floor.

“Shh! Dude, you’ve gotta be quiet!” Miles whisper shouted. “My dad’s here, and if he sees you, he’s gonna- Whoa, whoa, whoa!” He reached out to catch Peter, who had started to pitch forward. “Peter, what’s wrong?”

Peter could feel himself losing lucidity, but he blinked hard to try and will himself to stay conscious. “Had to stop Manfredi. They got some shots in. You were closest.”

Miles was a little bit familiar with the Manfredi crime family, only having met them once while out patrolling with Peter. To be fair, he was still pretty new with the whole Spider-Man thing. What he could remember from them, was that they meant business. They were the kind of people who could bring a knife to a gunfight, and win.

“Okayokayokay. Where are you hurt, man?” Miles was looking Peter up and down, and he noticed a rip in his mentor’s suit at his lower left abdomen, blood seeping from it. “Is that a stab wound?”

Peter coughed in reply, bringing his hands up to wrap around his bruised and broken ribs. “T-tried to web it up, but blood soaked through.” His words were starting to slur together, and each time he closed his eyes, they became harder to open.

“Hey, hey, this is no time to sleep.” Miles gently shook, Peter. “I’m gonna try and get some stuff for you, alright. Just stay awake, please?” He waited for Peter to nod his head before turning on his heel, and heading quietly out of his room.

\-------------------------------------------------

Miles was trying to keep his cool as he made his way into the bathroom for the first aid kit, but he could feel himself becoming overwhelmed. _How am I supposed to fix a stab wound? I don’t know how to stitch something up, and I don’t even think we’ve got the supplies for that!_ Miles grabbed the small box from the medicine cabinet, and then headed straight for the kitchen. _Water, water, water. I should probably get him some water._ Instead of using the obnoxious, loud water filter from the fridge, he poured water from the tap. Surely Peter could fight off whatever bad chemicals or minerals were in the water better than he could defend himself from Miles’ dad.

Miles’ dad was the major problem in all of this.

Jefferson Davis was a great cop, and like every great cop, he questioned Spider-Man’s motives and herowork. Whenever he stated his argument, to Miles, it always sounded like he was jealous, but in reality, Jeff was just worried about his fellow men’s safety. He would always recite,” Ya know, none of us have superpowers or a mask to keep ourselves, our friends, or our families safe, so why should Spider-Man? He needs to have some accountability for his actions! And now, he’s got this little buddy, this little _sidekick_ -” That was typically when Miles would stop listening. His dad just didn’t understand.

Stealthily, Miles made his way back into his room.

“Okay, Peter. I’m back.” Miles announced his presence as he walked through the door. “I got you some water.”

Peter didn’t even lift his head.

Miles hurried over, lightly shaking Peter’s shoulder once more. “Come on, man, wake up!” He could feel himself becoming more desperate.

Peter groaned. “Wha- What?”

“Shh, you gotta keep quiet, or my dad will hear. I brought you some water.” Miles held up the glass. He wondered if he should help Peter drink or not, but his thoughts were answered when Peter reached for the water himself. After giving Peter a moment to drink, Miles asked, “Alright, so what do I do first, stop the bleeding?”

“Yeah. Lemme try ‘n help.” Peter reached for the med kit, and after unclasping it, grabbed the few sheets of gauze that he could see. That wasn’t going to be nearly enough. His head swam. He handed the sheets to Miles.

“Uhh, right. Okay. I’m just gonna put pressure on it, okay, Pete?” Miles took the gauze. _Is this gonna be enough to stop the bleeding?_ His hands were shaking. “Okay, you’ve gotta be quiet, too.”

Miles pressed the gauze into the wound as forcefully as he dared.

Peter, in his muddled state, did not heed so well in following Miles’ directions. He let out a cry that switched into a deep moan.

Miles brought his hand up to Peter’s mouth, but then grabbed Peter’s jaw instead. It felt weird to try and silence his hero, and it felt wrong, but what if his dad heard?! “Shh! I’m sorry, man, but you’ve gotta be _quiet_.”

Miles then returned both hands to the wound, where the gauze was sopping up all of the blood, and quickly. “Crapcrapcrap. Dude, I don’t know if I can get this to stop! Peter? Peter?!”

Peter wasn’t waking up.

Miles tried to survey his options. Maybe he should get Peter to a hospital, or Stark tower, or something. He wasn’t equipped enough to handle this sort of injury, and with Peter out of commission, he quickly felt himself panicking beyond his control. “I don’t know what to do, man!”

Miles then made up his mind. He was taking Peter to a hospital. Stark Tower was way too far away from Brooklyn. He would just have to call Tony, and let him know where they were, and then Tony could pull Peter out of whatever hot water the hospital put them into when they realized how unnatural Peter was. Or, if he was able to get Peter to the hospital where his mom worked, she could take care of Peter secretly; Miles wished that she hadn’t taken that one nurse’s night shift, and that she could be here to help.

Now, having a fairly concrete plan, Miles hurriedly put on his own suit. He couldn’t risk webbing through the city without it, even at night. He then packed a bag with a change of clothes for the both of them so they could get into the hospital without question. “Okay, Peter. I’m gonna pick you up now, and take you to the hospital. Don’t worry about anything; I’m gonna call Tony when we get there, and have him cover for us.”

Miles wrapped his arms around Peter’s chest, and then rose, crushing Peter in a near bear hug.

Peter was awakened instantly.

Miles nearly dropped Peter when he started screaming and frantically pushing himself away from Miles. Avoiding the punches, Miles cried out, “Oh my gosh! Dude, dude, dude! You’ve gotta stop! He’s gonna-”

Unbeknownst to Miles, Peter had at least four broken ribs, and seven more bruised. The pressure put against them hit Peter with near blinding pain, bringing him out from his unconsciousness in full fight or flight. “Get offa me! Stop!”

Miles obeyed, tears starting to spring to his eyes. There was no way they were going to get out of this now. He rushed to the door, hearing his father’s heavy footsteps. No doubt, the man’s gun would be drawn as he was about to bust into his son’s room.

“Police! Open up!”

“Dad, dad, dad! Please wait! Don’t come in!” Miles could feel his dad starting to open and shoulder his way in through the door. He was too terrified to use his enhanced strength.

Officer Davis could already see a silhouette leaning against the radiator, and he aimed his gun. “Hands where I can see ‘em!”

Before his dad could connect the flashlight beam to the “perpetrator”’s face, Miles shot out in front of his dad’s gun, Spider-Man suit and all. “Dad, please! It’s me! It’s Miles! Please don’t shoot him! It’s Peter! Peter Parker!”

Jefferson Davis was completely frozen, his gun still aimed, but his finger nowhere near the trigger. Here was his _son_ , dressed as the Spider-Man sidekick he’d been chasing around the streets of Brooklyn for months, _with_ Spider-Man, who happened to be a boy that he _knew_. Miles and Peter Parker had become friends during a summer camp at Oscorp, and had even partnered up for their final project. The boy had been over to their apartment a number of times, and even though he was a year or two older than Miles, Jeff had noticed how kindly he would treat his son, while other boys who were older than Miles always ridiculed and belittled him. He lowered his weapon. “Miles?”

Miles crashed into his dad with a hug, starting to cry. “Dad, I’m so sorry! I should have told you, but I was so scared! And I didn’t know how, or what-”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, Miles.” Jeff returned the hug, any and all assumptions he’d ever made about any Spider-Man already having completely melted away. “It’s okay. You don’t have to explain anything.”

Miles felt a huge wave of relief. Somehow, in a rather unorthodox way, his dad knew, and he didn’t seem mad. He wasn’t trying to shoot him, or tase him, or arrest him, and he wasn’t doing the same to Peter either. _Peter!_ “Dad, there’s-”

“Miles, why are you bleeding?” Jeff asked with immediate concern. “Did you get hurt tonight?”

“It’s not mine, Dad, it’s Peter’s.” Miles once again felt tears burning in his eyes. “It’s really bad, Dad.”

Flicking on the bedroom light, Jeff finally got a good look at Peter. The boy was pressed up against the radiator, and his eyes darted frantically back and forth between the officer and the window. He was like a wounded, wild animal. There was blood oozing from his left side, and a rather large bump forming on his forehead. That was only what he could _see_. Who knew what else was underneath the suit.

Jeff knew that he needed to get Peter taken care of, and he could tell from Miles’ face that the boy wasn’t strong enough for something like this yet, or in the right state of mind to help. This was too much for him at once.

“Okay, Miles, I just want you to get some towels laid out in the bathroom. I’m gonna handle this.” Jeff’s eyes never left Peter’s.

Miles started. “But Dad, I think-”

Jeff then looked at his son, and held his face gently in his hands. “I’m gonna help him. I’m gonna take care of your friend, alright. You’ve done enough already.”

Once again, Miles looked relieved. “Okay, Dad.” He left to get the bathroom set up the way his father had asked.

\-------------------------------------------------

Jeff headed towards Peter slowly, his arms raised in surrender. “Now Peter, you haven’t got anything to be afraid of. I’m gonna get you fixed up. Is that okay?”

With waves of pain still rolling through Peter’s abdomen, and the fact that he could barely stand on his feet, he realized that he didn’t really have a choice. He would have to trust this man. He nodded his head.

“Okay.” Jeff approached Peter less apprehensively. “What hurts right now, other than the cut?”

“‘Iss a stab wound. Don’t know how deep. My ribs.” Peter answered.

“Okay. I can work with that. Do you think you can get one of your arms up over my shoulder?”

Peter winced at the thought, but nodded his head. He started to wrap his arm around Jeff’s neck, letting out a few sounds of pain.

“Nice and slow. Easy.” Jeff helped the boy, and soon enough, Peter was leaning into his side, as supported as he could be.

Miles had returned, and was watching silently from the door as his dad started to lead his friend through the room.

“Just keep the doors open wide Miles.” Jeff ordered. “And if you could, grab that water and the med kit from the room. I’m still gonna need it.”

“Got it, Dad.” Once Peter and Jeff had made it through the bathroom door, Miles went back to grab all of the supplies. Upon returning, he saw that his dad had already gotten Peter’s suit off, and that he had him situated on his back on the floor. There were a couple of towels bundled underneath the teen’s head. “Here you go, Dad.” He handed everything over.

“Thank you, Miles. You can shut the door on your way out.” Jeff dismissed him. “I’ll let you know if we need anything.”

As much as Miles wanted to argue, and stay with Peter and help, he nodded his head, taking his leave. His dad probably knew what was best.

The next time though, Miles would be ready. He sighed, knowing there would be a next time.

\-------------------------------------------------

“Alright, you heal pretty quick, right?” Now, completely alone with Peter, Jeff couldn’t help but feel a little bit awkward. Not ten minutes ago, he would have thought how much of a menace Spider-Man was, and now, he was trying to figure out what enhancements the boy had so that he could help him heal.

“Yeah. Sometimes it just needs a head start ‘s all.” Peter felt the same awkwardness, keeping his eyes trained to the ceiling.

“Okay, then that’s what I’m going to do.” Jeff grabbed from the stack of towels behind him. “I’ll just put some pressure on the wound. You ready?”

Peter braced himself, preparing for the pain again. “Mhh hmm.”

Jeff put steady pressure on the wound, feeling the boy involuntarily buck under him. “Sorry, Peter. Just try and keep nice and still.”

Peter was panting, his hands and feet fidgeting on the ground as he tried to acclimate to the pain. “‘M sorry.”

“You’re doin’ alright, kid.” Jeff kept the pressure. After a minute or two of nothing but Peter’s pained noises, he decided it best to help distract the teen. “Ya know, I did see the gauze on the ground.”

Peter didn’t respond, but Jeff could tell that the boy’s eyes were on him. “I guess Miles thought that those few pieces of paper towel were gonna do the trick. Maybe along with a wish on a star, but not by itself.” Jeff chuckled, knowing that his son had great intentions, but sometimes, his scatterbrain would keep some of the simplest solutions hidden. “These towels are all clean by the way, so don’t worry about any infection or nothin’.”

Peter nodded along. “Yeah, Miles is a good kid though.”

“Yeah, I don’t argue with that. He just gets overwhelmed a lot lately.” Jeff smiled sadly. “And I guess I now know why.”

“Yeah. Sorry you had to f-find out this way.” Peter offered his condolences.

Jeff sighed exhaustedly. “Yeah, it’s a lot. But, you know what?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m grateful that he’s got someone like you to look out for him. I’d be terrified for him if it were someone else, but with you,” Jeff paused, “I know that he’s gonna be perfectly fine out there.”

Peter felt the pain slowly ebbing away at the heartfelt compliment.

“And I guess he is kind of following in his old man’s footsteps, too. Just not in the way that I thought.” Jeff chuckled again.

“We’re all h-heroes, Mr. Davis. I know you’ve n-never really liked m-me and what I do, but,” Peter started.

Jeff could see the effort it was taking for Peter to speak, effort he couldn’t afford at the time, and he gently stopped him “Hey, it’s okay, Pete. Save your strength. There’ll be the time, one day. All you need to know is that you haven’t got anything more to prove to me.”

“M’kay.”

After a few more minutes of comfortable silence, Jeff started to ease up on the towel. “Okay, it looks like this has stopped bleeding. Ya know, like you said, I don’t know how deep this thing is either. Can you tell? Does everything feel okay? Nothin’ important get nicked?”

“I haven’t coughed up any blood yet.” Peter blushed. “And I can’t feel any blood coming out down there, so no internal bleeding. I think- I think we’re good.”

“Well good, cause I would have to draw the line at internal bleeding. If only Rio were here.” Jeff wished.

“Think Miles felt the same way.” Peter agreed. He missed Miles’ mother too. She was so boisterous and kind, and she always made the most amazing tembleque when he came over. His mouth watered at the thought of the sweet, coconut-y treat.

“What can I say, she’s a hard workin’ girl.” Jeff spoke aloud, admirably. “She loves her family, and she loves to provide for it.”

“She’s a real nice lady. Good nurse, too.” Peter had told his aunt about Mrs. Morales, and he’d always secretly hoped that May would transfer over to her hospital so that they could meet and work together. He knew they’d get along well in the workplace.

“Yeah, there could’ve been a nurse here, but instead, you got stuck with me.” Jeff started to search through the medical kit for their hydrogen peroxide.

“You’re doin’ better than I’d’ve done myself.” Peter offered.

Jeff made a noise of acknowledgment, but he had concern etched on his face.

“What?” Peter picked up on the man’s unease.

“Good news and bad news, Pete.” Jeff grabbed the only bottle of antiseptic that he saw in the medial kit. “The good news is, this won’t take long, the bad news is, all I’ve got is rubbing alcohol.”

Peter hissed in a breath, knowing exactly what that was going to feel like. He wasn’t about to ask the man if they had any hydrogen peroxide in their house, feeling that that would be rude.

Almost as if he could read Peter’s mind, Jeff spoke, “We usually have the bubbly, non-stinging stuff: hydrogen peroxide. But some time back, Miles was dead sent on picking this stuff up. He said that whenever he got a cut or anything like that, he wanted to start cleaning it out with this rubbing alcohol stuff in order to feel ‘badass’. So I’m sorry you have to pay for my son’s wish to be ‘like the guys on T.V.’.”

“That story makes it better.” Peter said genuinely.

“Alright, well, after I clean this out, I’ll probably do some butterfly bandages to keep it closed the best I can, and then tape some gauze on top of it.” As he said this, Jeff unpackaged their nearly hidden last pack of medical gauze. “As long as you don’t move around too much tonight, do you think it will be healed enough in the morning? I mean, I can try and do some stitches, but I couldn’t use anything other than a sewing needle and thread, and I don’t think that’s very sterile.”

“Bandages are good enough.” Peter promised.

“Okay, cool. And yeah, if it’s not workin’ out in the morning, we’ll figure something else out. Now,” he unscrewed the cap of the antiseptic, “are you good to go for this?”

Peter pinched his mouth into a thin line, nodding his head.

“Alright, I’ll just do it, then.” Jeff, with a cotton ball ready to assist, tipped the jug so that the rubbing alcohol poured out and onto the wound.

Once the burning liquid flowed into Peter’s body, he couldn’t even hold back his screams. He did make the conscious effort to scream through clenched teeth, hoping he wasn’t too loud. He hated looking weak, especially in front of someone who wasn’t his usual caretaker. Whenever it was Tony, or Bruce, or Helen, it wasn’t as humiliating, but this? Peter groaned, tears of embarrassment and pain leaking out.

“Sorry, Peter. Almost finished.” Jeff drawled out as he started to dab at the slice with the cotton ball. He pulled it back, and found it to be a dull pink color. None of the blood clots had burst from Peter’s flinching and spasming abdomen.

Not long after, Peter’s sounds of pain dropped off, and he quickly brought up a hand to wipe his eyes and face. “Done?”

“Yeah, I think so.” Jeff used a towel to dry off Peter’s side, careful to not accidentally slosh any liquid into the wound. “Just need to bandage it up.”

Peter relaxed almost completely. Bandaging was never that bad. He even closed his eyes.

With care, Jeff placed three butterfly bandages across the wound to help keep it closed. Then, he placed a couple of layers of gauze over the bandages, and finally, taped everything in place with medical tape.

Jeff clasped his hands in accomplishment. “Alright, that’s all set. Now, how’s your head? It looks like you’ve got a bit of a bump?”

“Thass all it is. I know concussions. This isn’t one.” Peter pointed to the goose egg. “It’ll be gone tomorrow.”

“Alright, fair enough. You said ribs too, right?” Jeff started to search for the bandage wrapping.

“They’ll be okay.” Peter waved him off.

Jeff could very clearly see the bruising, and there was no harm in helping Peter’s healing factor along. “It won’t take long. And it wouldn’t hurt to have a little extra support during the night.”

“Okay. Thank you.” Peter remained polite, even though he really didn’t want his ribs wrapped. It wasn’t even so much in fear of the discomfort. He was just exhausted. And worried. The more people who knew his identity, the more people he could lose.

“Alright, so, I don’t really care what they say on the internet. When me and my brother used to scuffle, and a rib got knocked, we wrapped ‘em, and it worked. So that’s what we’re gonna do.” Jeff said finally. He helped Peter get into a sitting position, and then sat down behind him. “You don’t have to put your arms up or anything, just make sure I can get underneath ‘em.”

Peter understood, and set his hands, palms down on the ground, far enough that Jeff could get the wrapping underneath his arms without any trouble.

“Actually, you know what?” Jeff stopped and thought. “Before I do this, do you know if you broke any ribs? I don’t want to have anything puncture a lung here.”

“At least four. Don’t know which ones.” Peter tried to be helpful.

Jeff’s eyebrows raised in astonishment. “Well, okay. Guess we won’t be wrappin’ the ribs."

“‘M sorry. Thanks for trying, anyways.” Peter took his hands off of the floor, and used them to warm himself from the chill he suddenly felt.

Jeff surveyed the shivering teen. “Let’s get you to bed and warm you up a bit.”

Peter’s eyes widened a little. “No, sir. It’s alright. I can go home now. I appreciate-”

Jeff stopped him quickly. “Don’t even try, Peter. Really, the best thing you need now is rest. Just tell your aunt that you’re staying the night with Miles, alright? Wait, does she know about Spider-Man?”

“Yeah, she’s known for a while now.” Peter admitted.

“Okay, then, maybe you don’t have to tell her you’re hurt, if you don’t want her to worry, but tell her you’re here, alright. I’m puttin’ my foot down on this one.” Jeff knew exactly how little of authority he had in this situation, but he made the effort to sound convincing.

“If it’s alright that I stay here?” Peter did not like imposing on people, especially so unexpectedly.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m asking for.” Jeff rose, and then extended a hand for Peter to grab.

“Okay. I’ll stay.” Peter clasped the hand.

“Just take it slow.” Jeff helped the best he could, keeping Peter from bending or stretching his side too much. He then hoisted Peter’s arm up and over his shoulder, in the same position from when they had first entered the bathroom.

“Where d’you want me?” Peter felt his eyes drooping as he turned his body towards the living room.

“‘M takin’ you to my room. You’ll have the bed, and I’ll sleep on the couch.” Jeff said with finality, so Peter wouldn’t argue.

Peter still made a face. Taking the bed! That was too much! He really didn’t deserve this kind of hospitality, especially for just a simple stab wound and broken ribs, and especially from a man who, up until tonight, would normally be trying to force him into handcuffs.

However, any unlikeableness Peter felt by taking the bed quickly drained away when he was on the soft memory foam, and covered under the comforter. He closed his eyes. He couldn’t wait to get a good night’s sleep and-

“Don’t forget to let your aunt know what’s up, Peter.” Jeff had brought in Peter’s suit, which also had his phone, and the glass of water. “See if you can try and drink that before you go to sleep, too.”

“Right, thank you, sir.” Peter was already starting to put the mask over his head, wanting to just have Karen send May an explanation and “goodnight” text.

“You don’t need to call me ‘sir’ Peter. Call me ‘Jeff’, ‘Mr. Davis’, ‘Officer Davis’, ‘Miles’ dad’, or whatever. Just not sir.” Jeff spoke with a smile. He wrapped his knuckles on the door. “Good night.”

“Good night.” Peter answered back, still not sure how he would want to address the man.

Peter laid back and sighed. “Karen, can you please let May know that I’m staying with Miles Morales tonight, and that I’ll be home after school tomorrow. If she needs the reminder, tell her Miles is who I worked a lot with the other summer at that Oscorp camp. Tell her I’m safe and that I larb her.”

“Of course, Peter.” Karen replied, her voice automatic and chipper.

With that, Peter pulled off his mask and pulled up the covers. Then, he gulped down the water, finding himself particularly quenched afterwards. And then, finally, Peter slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The author was projecting when it came to Miles' desire to use 91% isopropyl alcohol; it makes me feel so cool to use the stuff that stings the cuts!
> 
> Anyways, that it's from me! WithoutSensation will post as soon as she can, and I will continue to work on and complete "Have You Ever Seen "The Village"?".
> 
> -WithACherryOnTop


	7. Sleep Deprivation (Part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone! This is the final chapter of our Febuwhump/Febu(flop). You might want to reread chapter 3 (Imprisonment: Part 1) again to help this be more cohesive, but it's not necessary. This chapter is pretty sad, and it made me sad writing it. But, it will have a happy ending! Maybe a bit of a warning because I investigate what I believe are some pretty dark themes. Maybe not, I don't know. Keep yourselves safe!

Peter’s restless sleep was interrupted by the same siren he’d heard every morning for the past 171 days. The lightbulb overhead flickered to life, illuminating the cell. There had been no risk of waking up on his back and being subjected to the glaring light because Peter had fallen asleep on his stomach the night before.

The conversation Peter had overheard nearly two weeks ago had come to pass. The doctors took a sample of his bone marrow yesterday, and Peter was still feeling the effects. He was hoping he’d be able to get away with just laying on his “bed” all day, but he had no such luck.

A loud set of knocks on his metal cell door had Peter jerking and then hissing from his bed. “Wakey-wakey in there! I’ve got some food for the freak.” A bowl of oatmeal was pushed through the tiny slit under the door, a bottle of water rolling in after it.

Peter was hesitant to move, and his heart rate was beginning to pick up. This was new. This was not the routine. The guard assigned to giving Peter his meals had stopped mocking him a few months ago. Peter slowly and carefully rolled onto the hip that hadn’t been speared by a needle yesterday and sat up. From there, he rose and began limping over to the food. 

He spent an entire minute staring at it, calculating it. It didn’t look any different. It didn’t smell any different. It looked like the same drugged meal Peter'd been given every morning. So why did the guard jeer at him?

Peter pondered the thought as he slurped at the bowl of oatmeal. By the time he’d topped off the water and flavorless, runny oatmeal, he still couldn’t come up with an explanation. He tried to push the odd occurrence from his mind, and moved on the next part of his day: exercising.

Peter scowled at the fact that he’d have to modify his workout, given his sore hip. He settled on just doing some basic yoga and stretches today. That wouldn’t bother his leg too much, and it might even help ease the ache a bit.

Soon enough, Peter heard two pairs of footsteps. The guards were here to take him to the bathroom. Peter tried to remember if today was a shower day. Yes… wait, no. He’d showered two days ago. He’d get to shower tomorrow.

As the door opened, Peter lowered himself to the floor and held his hands behind his back. The guards grabbed his arms and hauled him back to his feet. The whole dropping-down only to be hoisted back up seemed contradictory to Peter, but he was long past the point of questioning anything or mouthing off.

They began a slow trek to the bathroom. Peter limped as fast as he could, daring to put more and more pressure on his bad leg. He thought he’d been going a decent pace, but apparently the guards didn’t think so. One of the guards let out an annoyed sigh and then proceeded to drag Peter the rest of the way. The other guard followed suit. 

Peter tried to get his feet under him, but immediately stopped when it pulled at his hip. Oh well, better to be dragged than carried.

When they finally made it to the bathroom, Peter quickly did his business and then stood awkwardly in the center of the room while he waited for instructions. 

“Get in the shower.” One of the guards finally commanded. Peter didn’t move. This was not the routine. “I said, get in the shower, ya’ freak.”

Peter let out a whine and began wringing his hands together. He didn’t know what to do. Were they testing him, making sure he knew the rules? Or was he really supposed to take a shower after just two days? Would he get to shower more frequently now? Had he earned it?

“You gotta be-” the guard began stomping over to Peter, who flinched backwards. “Get in the shower!” He smacked Peter across the face, sending him sprawling to the ground.

Peter groaned, but then began crawling over to the shower. He began removing his clothes with trembling fingers. He turned on the water and allowed the frigid water to pour down on his head. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was supposed to do. He combed his hands through his wet hair once before turning to look at the guards.

The one who’d approached him crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. “Seriously? You’re done already? I would savor this if I were you.”

At this point, the water began transitioning from icy to molten, but Peter hardly noticed. Savor this, as in, this would be Peter’s last shower for a while. This would be Peter’s  _ last  _ shower. Peter’s heart was pounding at this point. He was too scared to do anything.

“Unbelievable. Whatever intelligence you had is long gone, isn’t it? Well, if you’re all done, then get over here.” The guard was holding a pair of blue shorts. Peter always got the same blue long sleeved shirt and pants after a shower. They’d never given him shorts before. This was not the routine.

The other guard, who’d been silent up until this point, finally spoke, “Trust me, it’ll be easier this way.” Peter was practically vibrating with fear now. He somehow managed to get the shorts on before the guards grabbed his arms again. 

This time, they thankfully allowed him to keep his feet underneath him. They were walking down the corridor. Would they go right, or would they go left? They went left, and Peter relaxed the slightest bit. This was familiar. This was normal. This was the routine.

Peter began to mentally prepare for whatever medical testing he’d be subjected to today. It must be bad if they’d needed him to take a shower before they began. Maybe some kind of surgery? Was that why he had to be clean? Had to be dressed only in shorts?

Peter mindlessly began turning to enter the door he always entered, but the guards pulled him back and kept walking straight. They had  _ never _ gone past this door before. This wasn’t right. This was scary. This was not the routine. So Peter did something he hadn’t done for months.

He rooted his feet into the ground, hip be damned. He began pulling against the guards with all his might. The guards hadn’t been expecting Peter to actually fight back, and Peter stumbled away from the guards. He tried to run through the door into the medical lab, but a guard snatched his ankle at the last second.

Peter let out a strangled scream as he was dragged backwards. He grabbed onto the door post and  _ stuck _ to it for all he was worth. Activating his long dormant powers was surprisingly easy, like riding a bike. Peter had no intention of going down that hallway. The guards were pulling on him as hard as they could, aggravating his hip and straining his shoulders. But any pain had to be better than whatever room was at the end of the hallway. 

Peter knew that this was it. He’d finally outlived his usefulness. They were going to kill him, and he knew it. They certainly weren’t going to just let him go.

“Screw this,” one guard let his leg go while the other continued to pull. He walked over to the doorway and delivered a swift kick to the fingertips of Peter’s left hand. The unexpected blow had Peter howling, clutching his left hand to chest. Peter braced himself as the guard drew his leg back, eyeing Peter’s right hand. This time, it took three solid kicks and the shattering of Peter’s fingers to get his right hand to let go of the door.

Peter was hoisted off the floor and carried down the hallway, the guards not giving him any chance to stick himself to anything. Peter wriggled and squirmed, doing his best to stunt their progress, but exhaustion was already kicking in. He continued letting out animalistic screams until they formed something like words.

“NO! PLEASE! NO! NO! NO! NO! WAIT!”

The guards must’ve found his pleas pretty funny, “Aww, look. It’s finally talking again.”

They took a right through a door at the end of the hallway, and surely Peter’s heart was jackhammering out of his chest. He cutoff his pleas as he took in his surroundings. His eyes darted to the left. No firing squad. To the left. No electric chair. He looked upward. No noose... but there was something. A set of rusty shackles. He looked directly below them. A drain. Peter’s hysterical screaming started up again as the guards heaved him forward. They were gonna tether him upside down and slit his throat. He knew it.

Peter was legitimately fighting for his life. Yesterday’s hip incision was steadily bleeding due to his thrashing. He heard a distinct set of pops as the muscles of his shoulders tore, but felt no pain as he bucked in the guards’ hold. He bashed his head against the helmet of the guard behind him until he saw stars.

“Alright, that’s enough!” Evidently, after likely giving the guard a concussion, Peter’s struggling was no longer amusing. They lifted Peter’s… wrists? Peter was silent again as a look of confusion appeared on his face. He was sure they were going to string him up like some prized steer.

The guard whose head Peter had butted drove his knee up into Peter’s unguarded stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Peter slumped over as much as he could in the shackles, but was forced upright as a guard began cranking a lever attached to the wall. Peter was lifted until his toes barely scraped the concrete floor below him. 

The guards turned to leave right as a lady entered the door. They were clearly talking about something but Peter was too spent to hear it. The guards left and the woman made her way over to Peter. She pulled an IV cannula out of her pocket, uncaring about it being unsanitary, and grabbed hold of one of Peter’s arms. “If you don’t make as big a fuss as you made for the guards, then this will all be over quickly.”

This will all be over quickly. Lethal injection it is. Peter whimpered as she inserted the IV, and waited until she’d left the room, no doubt to grab whatever serum they’d be using, before he allowed the sobs to escape his chest. He was never going to see his Aunt May again. Not his friends or his teachers. Not even the sun. 

As much as Peter tried to deny it, he’d never completely given up hope on the Raft. There was always a tiny spark in the back of his mind, at the bottom of his heart that told him that someone, something, somehow would get him out of here. It was obvious now that that wasn’t going to happen. He was going to die.

But maybe he could be brave.

This idea stopped Peter’s tears in their tracks. Tony had been brave. He’d stared death in the face and gone quietly, dignified. Peter had lost any shred of dignity months ago, and he’d definitely blown his composure in front of the guards, but maybe now he could be brave. He could be strong.

He schooled his expression to the best of his ability and waited. While he couldn’t slow the pounding of his heart, his expression was still his own. He closed his eyes when he heard footsteps approaching. He didn’t want to see the needle. Maybe this way he could pretend he was just falling asleep.

If the woman noticed, she didn’t say anything. Peter felt her tampering with the IV in his arm, and his breathing sped up until he was borderline hyperventilating. He wasn’t brave, not like Tony. He was a scared little kid who didn’t want to die yet.

“There we go,” the lady muttered under her breath. Peter cut off a whimper, preparing himself to either just drift away or feel an enormous amount of pain until it ended. Until  _ he _ ended.

Peter waited… and waited… and waited. Nothing happened.

Peter hesitantly cracked an eyelid open. It took him even longer to muster the courage to look to the side and trace his IV up to a clear bag on a pole. That couldn’t be right. It should’ve just been a quick injection. Through Peter’s blurred vision, he eventually picked out the NaCl on the bag. They were just giving him fluids. The lady had the nerve to laugh at the now bewildered look on Peter’s face. 

“What’s wrong?” she patronized.

Peter couldn’t take this anymore. At this rate, these rapid fluctuations between unadulterated fear and confusion were going to wind up killing him instead of anyone or anything on the Raft. “Please, please just do it.” If the lady was surprised or impressed by Peter’s use of a full sentence, she didn’t show it. 

“Do what?” She knew what.

“Please, j-just kill me.”

“Aww, we can’t do that now can we?” She continued in her condescending tone. She began pulling an intimidatingly long tube out of her pocket, “One more finishing touch and you’re good to go.”

The lady grabbed Peter’s face with a shockingly strong grip and brought the tube up to Peter’s nostril. Peter strained against it, but was ultimately powerless as she snaked the tube up his nose. The burning, scraping sensation of the tube winding through his nasal passage brought tears to Peter’s eyes. 

She let go of his face as she reached for a pair of forceps, “Open your mouth.”

Peter shook his head. 

She narrowed her eyes, “Open your mouth  _ now _ , or I’ll go get my doctor friends to help me insert this through your abdomen.”

Peter opened his mouth.

The forceps advancing towards Peter’s mouth suddenly halted. “Try and bite these or my fingers, and I’ll pull out each and every one of your pretty teeth and feed them to you. Understand?”

Peter nodded vigorously.

She made quick work of locating the tube at the back of Peter’s throat. He gagged around the forceps in his mouth, but it was nothing compared to when she actually began threading the tube down his throat. She forcefully pushed the tube up his nose, demanding that he keep his mouth open even without the forceps in it so that she could see that the tube was in the proper place. Through it all, tears of frustration leaked down Peter’s face. A new bag was added to the IV pole, as she hooked up what Peter assumed were nutrients for him.

“All set,” the condescending tone was back. Just before she left she turned around with an evil grin, “The doctor will be with you shortly.” 

She must’ve thought she was pretty funny because Peter could hear her laughing all the way up the hallway. What could that mean? Was there really a new, worse doctor or was it merely a play on words? Peter supposed it didn’t really matter. She did say the doctor would be in shortly.

Peter allowed himself to relax. Relax as much as possible, that is. He was still alive, and it seemed like they planned to keep him that way for a while. He closed his eyes again and took several deep breaths. The pain in his hip, head, and broken fingers was now making itself known, but Peter’s exhaustion was stronger. This whole ordeal had Peter’s head drooping down to his chest. Before he knew it, he was asleep.

...

Whether it had been “shortly” or not Peter couldn’t tell, but his nap was interrupted when the “doctor” walked in.

“Well, well, Mr. Parker. This certainly wasn’t what I had in mind, but desperate times, right?” Secretary Ross sounded like this was exactly what he’d had in mind. He’d probably been hoping for this.

It had been a while since Peter had heard anything even remotely close to his name, and he hoped Ross missed the look of hurt that flashed across Peter’s face. Mr. Parker was a name Peter only ever heard Tony call him. It was just another cherished memory tainted by the Raft.

“I’m gonna be blunt with you here: we need information, and we’re tired of waiting. We’ve been decent to you so far, but-” Ross was interrupted by a scoff from Peter, whose eyes widened when he realized his mistake.

Right on cue, a guard walked in with a baton in hand. He delivered a handful of blows to Peter’s abdomen that had him gasping for air.

“As I was saying, we need information. And since you’ve been unwilling to act civilly towards me in these past months, this is what I’ve resorted to.”

Peter knew he was risking another beating, and that he probably wouldn’t be given an answer, but he asked anyway. “Sir,” Peter forced the word out of his mouth, “what are you going to do to me?”

Ross didn’t say anything for a long time, but then, “Peter, how do we unlock E.D.I.T.H.?”

Peter didn’t say anything at all. 

The guard swung the baton back, but Ross stopped him. Ross gave Peter a disappointed smile, but Peter imagined he was secretly pleased with Peter’s lack of cooperation.

“Alright then,” Ross turned to leave, “I’ll see you in three days Mr. Parker. Maybe by then you’ll be feeling a bit more talkative.” The guard and Ross disappeared out the door, slamming it behind them.

…

It was now apparent to Peter what was happening to him: sleep deprivation. For the past three days, he hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep. Everytime he even thought about closing his eyes, the lights would begin strobing, a siren would blare, and/or the guards would come in and spray him with icy water from a hose.

The hose was both Peter’s favorite and least favorite method of keeping him awake. On one hand, the icy cold felt like knives stabbing his already sensitive skin, but on the other hand, it did clean him up. Peter was no longer allowed the privilege of bathroom breaks. Peter now understood why they’d only given him shorts to wear after his last shower, and he also now understood what the drain beneath him was for.

Bathroom privileges weren’t all Peter’d lost though. He was no longer allowed to eat. Anything used to fuel him was pushed straight through the feeding tube snaking down his throat. He wasn’t allowed to drink anymore. They replaced the I.V. bag full of fluids every once in a while, but Peter’s dry throat still craved the refreshing sensation of water. Sometimes he’d open his mouth whenever they sprayed him with the hose, but he only ever got one or two swallows of water.

Peter had also lost nearly every piece of human contact. The only time anyone came in was to feed him once a day, change his fluids bag, or spray him with a hose. Nobody ever said anything. Peter had a feeling the guard spraying him had a lot of comments he wanted to make, but Ross must’ve demanded that no one speak to Peter because so far, he hadn’t heard a single snide remark.

When Ross finally walked in at the end of the third day, he merely asked, “How do we unlock E.D.I.T.H.?” When Peter didn’t respond, he left and announced he’d be back in another three days.

Peter couldn’t really remember, but at some point on the fifth day he must’ve started seeing things. He saw things that didn’t make any sense; things that made him laugh and look even crazier than he probably already was. He even saw Tony at one point, but he closed his eyes tightly once he saw him. He didn’t want to associate Tony with this vile place. The guards, thinking Peter was trying to sleep, started strobing the lights and sounding the siren. Peter would crack his eyes periodically, but only opened them fully once Tony’s strobing apparition disappeared.

Ross arrived again at the end of the sixth day, “How do we unlock E.D.I.T.H.?”

Peter didn’t say anything, and Ross made a big show of sighing and then turning for the door. “Please don’t leave me!” Peter blurted out.

Ross turned around, looking surprised. Peter ducked his head in shame. “Mr. Parker, how do we unlock E.D.I.T.H.?”

Peter really thought hard. He was so tired. He was finished. But then, he remembered what Beck did with E.D.I.T.H.. He thought about what Ross could do with E.D.I.T.H.. Peter wouldn’t let Tony’s name be stained in any way. Peter violently shook his head, refusing to answer the question.

Ross turned and left, ignoring Peter’s screams for him to come back. He didn’t stop screaming until his voice gave out the morning of the 7th day.

…

It was day eight. Peter was so excited. Tomorrow, he was going to tell Ross. He was going to answer his question. And then he’d be dead, and everything would be okay. Peter couldn’t wait for Ross to get here. He just had to hold on one more day. One more day.

Tony showed up again.

“Aren’t you proud of me, Mr. Stark?”

…

“How do we unlock E.D.I.T.H.?”

Peter opened his mouth to speak, but no answer came to his mind and no words came out of his mouth. The only thoughts in his head were questions. How  _ do _ they unlock E.D.I.T.H.? What’s an E.D.I.T.H.? Is that something he should know? He figured he’d better ask, “W-What’s E.D.I.T.H., sir?”

Ross’s face hardened, “You know damn well what E.D.I.T.H. is. Don’t play dumb with me.”

Peter’s breaths picked up. He didn’t want to be beaten, “I-I’m sorry, sir. So s-sorry. P-Please. I’m not d-dumb. N-not playing.”

“E.D.I.T.H.! Tony Stark’s artificial intelligence that he left to  _ you _ ! Don’t you remember that?”

That name sounded familiar to Peter. He looked at Ross with a hopeful expression. “T-Tony? Where’s Tony?”

Ross let out a frustrated yell, the noise startling Peter, before storming out. Before the door slammed, Peter thought he heard the words “useless” and “dispose”. Soon. He would be free from all of this soon.

...

Another day or two had passed. Maybe? They still weren’t letting him sleep, which Peter thought was pretty funny. They were wasting perfectly good light bulbs, speakers, and water. Through his sleep deprived haze, Peter had miraculously concluded that they were just going to let him waste away. No one had come in for his daily feeding or changed his I.V. bag. 

Peter thought if the dehydration didn’t kill him first, the headache he was currently suffering through would. A deep ache had settled into his muscles, into his bones. It wouldn’t be long now.

…

Peter’s eyes drooped closed for what he hoped would be the last time. This action was met with no strobe lights or sirens or water. Peter was so surprised that he actually jerked his eyes back open of his own accord. 

The door opened to reveal… what must be a new hallucination.

Sam and Bucky were currently making their way through the door. At the sight of Peter, they immediately sprinted over. Bucky’s eyes looked around for anything he could use to climb up and rip off the wrist restraints holding Peter up. Peter could see Sam’s lips moving. He must’ve been trying to tell him something. Explain something to him. But Peter was too tired. He was tired of the Raft. Of the hallucinations. Of the pain. Of the questions. Of the humiliation. Of everything. He was ready to see Tony again.

He allowed his eyes to close again, and this time, he didn’t open them back up.

…

A steady beeping roused Peter. He felt… good. Was he dead? Was this Heaven? If he opened his eyes right now, would he be greeted by his parents, his uncle, and Tony? There was only one way to find out. Peter absentmindedly reached up to rub at his neck. The collar was gone!

Peter opened his eyes and surveyed his surroundings. It definitely wasn’t Heaven. Unless Heaven was a hospital. Maybe Peter had gone to Hell because he was sick of hospitals. Sick of examination tables and needles and drugs.

No, Peter couldn’t be in Hell. He couldn’t be because May was here! Beside him! She was slumped in an old rickety chair, but Peter followed her arm to see that she was holding his hand. Tears were pouring out of his eyes as he gave a gentle squeeze to her hand. It was enough to wake her up.

“Peter!” May practically jumped up on the bed, “You’re okay, you’re okay! Darling, I missed you so much! You have no  _ idea _ ! We tried! We tried  _ so _ hard! Every day we were trying to get you out of there!  _ Every _ day I was thinking of you! They finally got those stupid Accords destroyed, and we were on a quinjet to the Raft the same  _ day _ ! I’m so sorry it took so long! I’m  _ so  _ sorry, Peter!”

May was crying too in her rambling. The two embraced each other; neither one daring to pull away from the other. If it was Peter’s choice, he’d never leave this spot, “It’s okay, it’s okay. I know you tried. You got me out.”

Peter was out. He was free. He’d seen May again. He’d get to see his friends MJ and Ned. Even Flash, who Peter never thought he’d feel grateful to see. He’d get to see the Avengers. He’d get to go on missions again. He’d get to go to school again. He’d get to be Spider-Man again!

He was free. He was safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully you guys enjoyed our contribution to Febuwhump/Febu(flop)! I had a lot of fun writing these prompts, and maybe for Whumptober I'll actually be able to fill out all or at least more of the prompts.
> 
> I don't know when I'll finish and start posting the final installment of my Stingers and Fangs and Barbs, Oh My! series, but that's probably when you'll see me again next. College is very time consuming, but I'm hoping I'll start writing more soon. I'll also probably have a new name next time I post. Stay safe, everyone!


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